


Sherlock Holmes (Book 1): Belonging

by 221B_Johnkhanlocked



Series: Sherlock Holmes- Consequences and Cases [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, BDSM, Breath Control, Caning, Catheters, Cunnilingus, Discipline, Dominance, Electricity, Extreme Pain, Fear, Fear as punishment, Feeling near death, Figging, Flogging, Genital Piercing, Heavy Petting, Humiliation, Icing, M/M, Medical Examination, Mild Biting, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Riding Crop, Rope Bondage, Sounding, Violet Wand, belt spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 86,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3977143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221B_Johnkhanlocked/pseuds/221B_Johnkhanlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have a contract in place. When Sherlock weaves out of control- and let's be honest, when doesn't he?- John brings him around again with a painful punishment session.  They are a committed couple in the BDSM world as well.</p><p>PREFACE: There is beauty in submission and the acceptance of that submission by the Dominant as a gift. In many cases, not all- nothing is ever black and white, after all- there is a loving dynamic between sub/slave and Dom/Sir/Master/Mistress within the BDSM world. It is not about the pain inflicted or endured. Many times it is about an exchange of power, the ability to help expand personal boundaries and help another person fly free. BDSM is consensual although at times it might ‘appear’ not to be. A sub has ‘subspace’, a place that is calming and quite enjoyable. Where pain and submission drives you higher into that space. A dominant has ‘Domspace’ as well, equally pleasurable. Praise and words of encouragement are good medicine that are always added at the end of a session. We will see that loving dynamic between Sherlock and John in Consequences and Cases Book 1: Belonging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In trouble again, Sherlock needs John to correct him.

JOHN:

Sherlock walks slowly ahead of me, alone and stiff backed with anxiety. He has stated on numerous occasions over the years that I don’t observe him but I know that stance and walk well. He is afraid I am angry with him for the idiotic dash across London, the wrestling match that ended with a knife fight and both of us barely escaping with our lives. He is correct, I am livid. Once again he has ignored my order to wait for the police and once again we’ve nearly paid a high price for his pride. I am pissed and he damn well knows it.

He pauses at the top of the stoop, one hand on the outer door as if bracing himself to enter 221B. Glancing back at me with a slight frown he waits till I nod at him to give him my permission to enter. ‘Waiting to be given permission to enter our flat’ is not an item in our disciplinary contract but he’s been doing it now so long now that I don’t even question why. He sighs heavily –ever the put upon drama queen- and lets himself into the quiet, dim landing. 

Once I close the door behind me, I round into him, my rage driving him backwards to press his back against the wall. My voice is stormy with annoyance and fear from the realization we both have barely managed to side step disaster yet again and it is all his bloody damn fault. Backed into the wall, he doesn’t move as I poke a finger into his chest and snarl, “I cannot fathom why you simply refuse to contact the police, Sherlock. Do you realize what a close call we had tonight?”

He remains sensibly silent for once and closes his eyes as I get up close, well into his personal space. He clenches his jaw to fight back the nasty, sarcastic retort I’m certain is brewing in that crazy brain of his. His mouth has gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. I am so angry I am almost wanting him to try to blast me. If he does I’d put him into his place immediately. Right here on the landing if necessary, in front of Mrs. Hudson- his concern about privacy be damned. Hell, in the mood I am in, I’ve half the mind to grab him and pull him over my lap on the stairs without further provocation and give him the blistering hiding he so deserves.

“Well, go on, what have you to say to me, Sherlock?” I sneer, waiting for his pending tantrum with a clenched hand. He refuses to look into my eyes, instead he chooses a spot on the floor that needs his undivided attention.

Swallowing, he simply shakes his head. He probably senses how close I am to being quite dangerous. He doesn’t like this really nasty side of me although he seems to revel in being able to bring it out in me often.

I point up the stairs and command, “Then go to your corner. I’ll deal with you when I’m damn good and ready. MARCH.”

Sherlock flees wordlessly up the stairs to our flat with me not far behind. Inside he drops off his expensive Belstaff very carefully at the door, lays the blue scarf over another hook and heads quickly to a far corner of the sitting room. He takes a stiff stance with his nose practically glued to the corner, arms at his side and feet planted wide apart. He looks at home over there. I snort in grim amusement. He should look at home, he’s been in it often enough since we first signed our contract.

I remove my own jacket and hang it next to his. Taking a seat in my chair, I cross my legs and watch Sherlock carefully. If provided any slack he has a tendency to start to find distractions as a way to alleviate boredom. A slight twitch of the hands or head tilt indicates when he is shifting into his Mind Palace even though it is forbidden during a Time Out. When he becomes truly bored he bounces on his toes or picks at the wall paper. I demand he give me a perfect stance and I expect him to focus on his behavior that earned him the corner in the first place. He hates holding still and he hates thinking about his actions. I set the small kitchen timer for thirty minutes and place it on the table beside me so that I might observe it.  
“Stop fidgeting,” I command sharply when he inevitably starts to shift a few minutes later.

He sighs and complains softly, testing the water as it were, “But John…”

I immediately rise and stride up to him, watching him subtly flinch around the mouth. I growl a warning, “I wouldn’t try to talk your way out of this; I really wouldn’t.”

Forever pushing at boundaries, Sherlock glances at me and replies snidely, “In the end though, we REALLY did not need the police.”

He yelps from the hard impact of my hand against his jean covered bottom and he manages to look startled. Before he can get into further trouble I shake my head and tell him, “We’ll discuss that issue after your time out. You know my rules. You agreed to them. Keep pushing me during Time Out and you’ll be spanked first before we’ve even discussed the punishment for your actions today.”

He stiffens into a proper form and stares resolutely into the corner again. I am close enough to see him swallow nervously and lick his lips. I think he has underestimated how angry he has made me and it’s dawned on him finally he is in for a long, hard punishment.

“Stay still, think about what happened today. I’m going into the bedroom to get a few things. I expect you to obey me.”

He whispers, “Yes, John.”

Most of the items I need are kept together in one easily-grabbed tote bag but the leather items I keep stored neatly laid out in silk lined drawers. I lift out the stiff, black posture collar. Its smooth surface is buffed to a high glossy gleam. I bring out Sherlock’s well-used wrist and ankle cuffs and the beloved riding crop. I juggle it all together against my chest as I lift the heavy tote and carry it all into the sitting room. Thankfully, Sherlock is still in the proper stance in his corner. I haven’t been gone for more than five minutes, still though, for him it likely felt like a life time.

I yank out a high backed wooden chair and set it in the middle of the sitting room. I gently lay the leather items out onto the table nearby, set the bag down just behind them, open the main zipper for easy access and then return to my chair to wait out the last few minutes of Time Out. Sherlock turns his head slightly in my direction.

“No deducing, Sherlock.”

His eyes go wide and he looks away again. He grumbles at the wall, “I wasn’t deducing.”

I’m not going to get pulled into a debate with him. “You’ve added five minutes to your time for that remark.”

As I reset his timer I watch as first his hand clenches then his shoulder and neck twitches as the annoyance of being called out on something quickly makes its way towards his mouth. He presses his lips tightly together to keep from speaking back. We are obviously making some headway finally.

The timer chimes thirty minutes later. Calmly he turns towards me and waits for me to tell him where to go. His eyes settle on the wooden chair behind me. He deduces in mere seconds what will occur once he sits on it and bites down on his lower lip. His eyes flick back to me and he shifts subtly from foot to foot as he waits, obviously feeling apprehensive.

“Yes, before I send you over there, come here,” I tell him as I point out the spot just in front of me. The classic ‘bad boy feeling sorry for his actions’ look takes its place on his face. Very tragic and sad. It doesn’t move my heart at all. It did of course the first time I saw it but that was many years and many punishments ago.

I know from past experience that being scolded and lectured are his least favorite parts of our sessions and he can easily be driven into sulkiness if I go on too long. There is a real art form to handling Sherlock. Finally I feel I am getting the knack for it. Timing is key.

He steps over to the precise spot I have indicated and stands still as a statue, back rigid in his perfect posture. I give him a moment to compose himself before I begin. I watch for any signs of rebellion that I will need to snuff out right away.

“Do you understand why you are being punished, Sherlock?”

A slight nod, no eye rolling yet. Not quite pushing the boundary but not quite what I was looking for from a repentant young man. “Sherlock, use your words.”

He inhales deeply through his nose, lifts his chin ever so slightly in defiance and answers through gritted teeth, “I disobeyed you.”

"Defied."

“I do not see why the difference needs to be pointed out,” He starts to answer back. My raised eyebrow and head tilt stop that line of thinking right away.

“Did you disobey a fresh command or did you defy me by breaking a rule already firmly in place? A rule, by the way, that you have broken many times in the past.”

He remains silent a moment, perhaps considering my words for once. More than likely though he’s seeking a loophole. I know there isn’t one left and wait for him to come to the proper conclusion on his own.

"I defied you, John."

I continue to wait him out in silence. He knows very well I expect him to continue- to elaborate.

When he seems to refuse to continue I hold up a finger and state simply, “One.”

“John, you don’t have to count, I was thinking.”

“Two.” I hold up the second finger to emphasize my point. I prepare myself to rise if I have too by placing my hands firmly on the armrests.

Almost childishly his hands fly behind him to cover his bum and he steps a tiny fraction away from me as he quickly adds, “Wait! I disobeyed....defied you by running after another dangerous criminal when I should have alerted the police instead. Further, this action placed us both in danger.”

I nod. I indicate his clothes with my hand. “Way too over dressed for punishment, I’d say. Strip.”

Slowly Sherlock reveals his pale skin to me. First he removes his purple shirt. I’m certain the well-stressed buttons are thankful for the brief break. He lays it gracefully over the back of the sofa. Next his jeans are removed and laid out over the shirt. My eyebrows arch upon seeing the lovely red underpants he’s chosen to wear. He shrugs innocently. He’s pretending, I think, not to know how hot and bothered I feel seeing them. He pulls off each shoe and tucks the socks into them as he sets them neatly under the end table. Finally he slides his underpants off and drops them, folded, next to his clothes. He acts almost shy standing in front of me, one hand instinctively covering his soft member from my sight.

“Hands down. Stop covering yourself,” I tell him as I stand up. His hand drops at once to his side. I tilt my head towards the waiting chair, “Sit down.” 

He bounces a bit on his toes as he obviously fights the instinct to flee in the opposite direction of the dreaded chair. He opens his mouth to say something but I hold up my hand and shake my head, “I don’t want to hear any of your pathetic excuses. Now. Sit. Down.”

“I wasn’t going to make…” He starts to remark. I may be small but army training has made me lightning fast. I have him by the ear and am yanking him to the chair well before he registers he’s been nabbed and can yelp in pain.

I plop him hard into the chair and I release his ear. He rubs at it with one hand, a frown making its way over his face. I lean over him, making direct eye contact. He squirms under the sudden weight of my full attention.

“Are you having trouble listening today? Do I need to help you with that?” I threaten. He squirms. “Answer me!”

His grey blue eyes widen and he shakes his head firmly. “No, John. I’m listening.”

I slap his inner thigh and with a yelp he spreads his legs widely for me. I turn and make a slow show of digging around in the open tote and reveal a ball gag with locking straps. As I lift it towards him and he sees it’s the largest one I own he clenches his jaw tightly. He starts to shake his head but my warning frown freezes his action.

“You knew this was coming, OPEN.”

He provides me a very slight opening but it gives me enough room to shove it into his mouth and wrangle it deeper to force his mouth open widely. He moans a protest as I fasten the straps tightly. I release his head. He looks at me with a mixture of worry and annoyance. Nine years together and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

I remind him, “We agreed you trust me enough not to have a safety word during punishment. If however you think it’s an emergency blink rapidly. I will ALWAYS stop and unfasten you, however, young man, as you have a tendency to misuse your signals, you’d better only alert me to a true emergency. I’m quite angry as it is.”

He nods and fidgets with the ball in his mouth with his tongue and teeth. I say, watching him with some amusement, “That should keep you from getting into even more trouble with a loud temper tantrum.”

He makes a funny sound around the gag that I know very well means, “I don’t have temper tantrums.” I ignore him and rub away the drool from the corner of his mouth. He sighs when I dry my hand on his chest.

I lift up the beautiful posture collar and he allows me to slip it on rather peacefully. A few months back I had taken him to a harness maker his brother Mycroft uses for leather gear for Sebastian and had the collar made to my exact specification. Its height and gently rolled edge would keep his head erect and still. Once it is in place I watch as Sherlock relaxes. He never refuses or fights the placement of any of the leather gear. He’s told me often that he loves its comforting embrace.

I show him a locking leather cuff and he raises one thin wrist. Once it is fastened, he obediently lifts the other wrist for the same treatment. He drops both hands to his sides out of my way as I continue to prepare his body for punishment.

I snatch a section of rope from the bottom of the tote and grab one wrist again. I force his arm behind his head towards the center of his back, between his shoulder blades. Quickly I bind that wrist to the top rung of the chair. As he has been tied in such a fashion before, he offers his other wrist when he senses I am done with the first. I finally step back and watch as he tests the ropes. Satisfied he cannot not pull loose I pass another section of rope around his chest and chair twice- once over his nipples and the second time just below them. With both hands I pinch and tug firmly on his helpless pink nubs. He groans around the gag and as he does so, spittle dripped down his chin and onto his chest. The sounds he utters drives a delicious electric current straight to my cock.

“You’re making a mess,” I tease. I run a hand over a straining shoulder and downwards onto his chest. I click my tongue at him and he glances at me worriedly, obviously trying to deduce what failure of his has just caught my attention and no doubt wondering if there will be added punishment. I let him stew a moment in anxiety before I remark, my hand still laying over his pounding heart, “You’re losing weight again. We’re going to have to put you back on those protein shakes, I’m afraid. If I find out you are skipping meals again while I work then you know there will be Hell to pay.”

I don’t wait to see if he’s going to try to answer. I expertly have his ankles in cuffs and bound to the chair legs within a few minutes. It is a trickier process to pass a rope under each thigh as he is sitting on them but I manage to get them secured wide apart without cursing. I always forget to do his thighs first, have him lift them up to get the rope around them BEFORE the damn ankles are tied. I make yet another mental note to get this right the next time. With Sherlock, there is always a next time for punishment.

Now for the truly difficult part, adding a new element to his punishment. One I am certain he will not like. I bring out eight small, empty wooden spools, a new package of gauze bandage, cloth tape and EMT scissors. I lay them out carefully on the table, it wouldn’t do to drop and lose one of the spools. I hold four of them where Sherlock can see them. His eyebrows lift in a question.

“You keep disobeying me despite knowing the consequences so I’ve decided to up the ante a bit with these. It does require your assistance in applying though. They go between each finger where you will keep them obediently in place as I bind your hands. I tested this on myself, and it does hurt, I must warn you. In fact it hurts a lot but it won’t harm you long term.”

His eyes take on a sad, sorry puppy look and I nearly cave. I harden my heart by remembering how I’d just been stabbed at again by a desperate criminal because Sherlock is stubborn. I can be stubborn too. I place a wooden spool between each finger and press them together. As I begin to bind them tightly with the gauze bandage, forcing each sensitive finger to press against the unyielding wood and tape the end he moans softly. I know the discomfort he feels now will soon turn into a deep burning ache around each knuckle. I finish the procedure on both hands and look into his face. Penitence is just starting to show in his deeply furrowed frown.

“Just as with nipple clamps, the pain is worse as you take that off,” I explain. Tears threaten at the corner of his eyes but he blinks them away. “That pain should keep you out of your Mind Palace during punishment.” He closes his eyes and opens them again, our signal of agreement or understanding.

“Now one final step in preparation,” I say as I reach forward to tug at his flagging cock. He grunts in surprise as I generally don’t pleasure him during punishment. His sounds seem to indicate a general protest which I decide to completely ignore. I slide his cock around on my palm and even bat it lightly till it is standing erect. I pull out a length of very pretty pink ribbon and hold it up it for Sherlock’s discernment. I say to him in a sweet tone he is sure to recognize as false sentiment right away, “Isn’t it pretty? It’s for you, Sherlock. I’m going to tie it around your naughty little dick. It’s going to look lovely in the picture. Very sweet and girly.”

At the mention of a picture he tries to shake his head. It doesn’t come off so well with the thick leather around his neck holding his head stiffly. He blinks rapidly at me in a near panic.

I reach to untie the knots in the rope in case I need to but I know my boy well. I ask him very seriously, “Is this about the picture, Sherlock?”

He hesitates then blinks once. Fear has widened his eyes and in this light they look dotted with flecks of gold. 

“I know right now if you were not gagged you’d be shouting Vatican Cameos at me, however, not wanting a picture taken is NOT a valid reason to stop punishment. It is NOT an emergency and you bloody well know that.”

He whimpers softly as I wipe away more drool. I lean in and whisper directly in his ear, “You’ll get 6 from the cane later for falsely using your safety signal.” He sighs unhappily but blinks once for understanding.

I crouch between his legs, rubbing him back to full attention and secure the ribbon around the base of his cock and balls. I have enough to bind his balls and separate them then I top it all off with a flourish of pink bow. Very cute. He’ll die of embarrassment each time he sees the picture of it. He knows I have no intention of putting this on my computer but I’ll print a single copy on my own printer and keep it in a photo album for him. Sometimes in Time Out I’ve made him review his book of past punishments. As he reviews the images a lovely deep red starts on his ears, then crosses his nose, neck and chest. I find it endearing when he blushes and it hardens me every time. 

I raise my new IPhone- Sherlock having taken and broken my last one- and snap a few pictures from different angles to illustrate my knot work and the bow endowed cock, dripping its pre-cum hungrily.

Sherlock sighs again as he listens to each photo being taken and quickly turns a lovely lobster red to my sheer amusement.

“Perfect. All set for your punishment.”


	2. The Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The punishment. I don't know about you but I think Sherlock needs to start being a good boy.

SHERLOCK:

John smiles at me in that half-twisted way of his, eyes bright with emotion. Earlier he had been very angry with me for my actions. Now however he looks, for lack of a better word, hungry. He takes a step back and watches me silently as I struggle with the bonds. My arms are aching, my hands burning around each knuckle and I have to breathe slowly as not to chafe against the rough rope around my chest. He’s getting better each time he does this. I’m proud of him and just a bit afraid too that he is getting to know every little detail about what I need to get back in control of myself. Where I start to lose the curve, he quickly steps in to correct my course with a firm hand. It’s taken many years to get him comfortable in this role and to agree on our contract but now that it is safely in place he excels at the job.

He snaps his fingers and draws my attention away from the past. I’d jump if I could for I find during my musings that he has picked up a handful of clothes pins. They don’t really hurt, at least not at first but I know my John, he’ll make them hurt after a while. He pinches one open, presses it against the skin under my collar bone and lets it close like a tiny bite. I hardly feel it. He sneers at me and announces as though I didn’t know, “We’re just starting. It will be worse. You’ve been quite naughty.” I hate that his words and teasing tone has such an immediate effect on my poor cock. I’m sure it is covered in pre-cum already.

He places another pin on the other side to mirror the first. He’s very particular about the way something looks, it must be perfect. He tilts his head, bites cutely on the tip of his tongue and frowns in concentration. He yanks the second pin free without opening it, leaving behind a tiny sting. He replaces it a moment later in almost the exact same spot save a bit higher. Satisfied now, he continues slowly to apply ten clothes pins in their very precise locations. A few times he pulls one off and moves it a fraction. The pain has grown into a burn under each pin but I can still easily tolerate them. That is until he touches each one and wiggles them firmly. He ignores my moans and useless efforts to bring my arms down to protect my chest. He turns away and slowly returns with the God awful clover leaf clamps. I know what’s coming. I feel my cock harden even further within the damn pink ribbon and I swear my nipples are trying to stand up to get his attention. I grunt loudly as each heavy clamp smashes one nipple at a time in a very tight bite that sears its way through my resolve to be stoic. My jaw is killing me from trying to bite down on the firm rubber ball. By the time both are placed on my poor nipples I am hissing in pain, twisting in the ropes that hold me securely, helplessly, to the chair.

He stands nearby and waits. I’m thankful, that even when angry, John is still in full control of himself. He rests one hand on my cheek studying my reaction. It feels so warm and soothing. Amazing how his doctor’s touch can be both firm and soft.

“Green?” He asks me.

 

I answer him with two blinks. I need a moment. He frowns and nods, ever patient. Once the pain in my chest dies down from yellow to green and I can handle more I blink at him once. He picks up more clothes pins and I moan behind the gag. I can deduce his next target, the gleam in his eyes give away his plans at once.

He leans over just looking at my hunger cock and this look alone makes it dribble profusely in excitement. It is trapped beneath the pink ribbon- well coated now I should bet- and I tremble as he slowly reaches forward. He’s prolonging this torture. I wiggle in the chair trying to get closer to the descending hand. A wicked grin crosses his features.

“I’ve always heard that doctors make the best torturers,” He muses. “What do you think, Sherlock?”

He hasn’t even done anything yet to bring hard core pain but as his sub I know full well that he is highly capable in this regard. I try to murmur my answer but the ball in my mouth garbles it. He chuckles at me as if he had understood every word. He’s heard me try to talk when high and when drunk so perhaps he did understand my gagged remark.

“Well, shall we?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer but dips down and clips a clamp to my ball sack. Within a few minutes there are ten more clamps covering my balls, cock shaft and ridge. Just tiny little annoying bites really. Not painful. The twitch in his fingers tells me that is about to change dramatically.

Silently he turns away and returns immediately with the riding crop. I can’t help the soft whimper that slides out around the gag.

 

THWAK!

I hiss sharply as the riding crop neatly swats a clothes pin free from my chest. It hits the floor with a clatter. I inhale deeply and fight to stay calm as I watch the crop rise then descend at a tremendous rate towards the next pin. It stops just short of making contact with the pin and barely makes the lightest tap on it. It’s still excruciating. It’s also a mind game masterfully executed. My nerves are on edge already. John has very good control over the riding crop, I taught him well- unfortunately for me he’s a damn fast learner and really took to using it with accuracy.

THWAK!

Another pin flies off and then another in quick succession. 

 

“How many are left on your chest?” He asks. The riding crop hovers in my vision as a threat.

 

“Seven,” I try to say. Of course it is nothing more than a garbled grunt of sound around the rubber ball and he looks very displeased.

 

“I couldn’t understand that at all. I don’t think you are paying attention.” He walks around, bends and picks up the clothes pins he’s knocked loose. He leans over me till he’s a mere hand-width from my face. “We’ll have to start over. I expect you to do better this time!”

He replaces each pin in the exact same areas as before, right over each sensitive reddened area. The sensation is more painful for this second application. I try to squirm away as he places the last one. He smiles so lovingly at me then that I feel dizzy from his power. I want to tell him I’m sorry, that I will be good but of course I know that he’s not finished, far from it. Cuddles are for later. Lots of gentle rubbing and soft, hot kisses will follow the punishment. If only I could ask him to skip ahead to that moment.

Still smiling he brushes his hand over each clothes pin and observes the effect. They sting like hell and I want them off. At the same time I don’t want him to touch them to take them off. I’m once again in a strange land of confusion, incapable of deductive reasoning. I’m lost in his power and I love it. 

“You enjoy that, don’t you? Why must you always push me to hurt you?”

Yes, I question myself, why must I?

THWAK!

The struck clothes pin feels like it ripped free but I know there is no blood. In fact there will only be a tiny red mark where it has pinched my skin. I jump as much as I’m able to given my current state of bondage and hiss loudly around the gag.

He strikes them all off at a rapid pace and I can’t catch my breath. I feel his anger and annoyance in my soul. He does love me but I’ve really pissed him off.

“Are they all off your chest?” He asks me, tapping the crop against my thigh. Oh God. I’m not certain. I hadn’t paid close attention. 50-50 chance at getting this right. John wears a grim poker face I cannot deduce. I blink once at him- YES- and hold my breath. He brings the riding crop down with a thunderous crack onto my inner thigh leaving a burning slash across the sensitive area. “Again you fail to pay attention?” Deftly he rips the remaining pin from my chest with his hand and shakes it at me as evidence.

I’ve failed him. He is going to put them back on. I know it. My heart sinks into my belly. I swallow and feel tears slide down my cheek leaving behind a hot trail. I despise failing at anything but failing my beloved John is the worst feeling in the world. I watch helplessly as he gathers them up again. Instead of leaning over me again to apply them to my chest he kneels between my legs and eyes my package again. There are already ten pinching me in that sensitive place and I dread having more. I groan at his look. I swear I can feel him taking in the view- the dribbling pre-cum and the pretty pink bow keeping me rigid. 

“We’ll see if you’ll pay better attention if I place them all down here.”

I moan as he circles my cock slit with one finger, gathering up the pre-cum and licking it off his finger. Patiently and slowly he places the ten clothes pins near the others on my cock and sack. From the trapped tightness in the skin there is a hot bite as he places each one. He sits back in a squat to get comfortable and then he wiggles all of them with his palm. Fuck! My head tells me it hurts. My cock dribbles out more pre-cum in defiance to what my brain says. I find I’m panting and sweating as he continues to manipulate them firmly. “There. We’ll come back to those in a bit.” He tells me as he finally rises. My whole crotch is burning.

He takes a firm hold on the nipple clamps and simply twists them slowly. There is fire and destruction, I cry out, helpless to stop him. He releases the clamps and they snap back into place with a jolt of electrical burn. I’m sure he’s done this first to himself at some point- he always tests on himself to understand how it may affect my physically but more importantly, emotionally. He knows just how bloody awful the pain is in my nipples, how long the pain lasts and how to bring it rushing back if he desires to. He licks his lips and regards me a solid minute. He dips his head then and licks softly around the clamps. Even this gentle teasing pressure zaps me hard with pain. I struggle against the ropes as he turns his wicked attention to the other nipple and applies his tongue. He’s so close to me as he continues to lick that I can smell his scent of arousal. It’s almost too much. He looks me right in the eyes before slowly reaching for the nipple clamps again. I want to scream no. The word is lost in my pathetic whimpering. It’s knowing what is coming and that I can’t do anything about it that is driving my heartrate up. He releases the first one’s grip and I gasp. Quickly he squeezes and rubs the nipple until the fire is finally dying out. His gentle touch soothes and hurts at the same time. My mind doesn’t care, it takes me over the moon somewhere. He releases the second nipple and applies the same treatment. He leans in to kiss me gently on the jaw. He murmurs, “Not done yet, Baby.” My heart sinks. He must be very angry and annoyed with me.

He moves away and wanders back into the bedroom. I cannot follow him as he leaves my peripheral vision. What could he have forgotten? I know every toy he owns and where he keeps them. Only the leather gear and a few other items don’t fit into the large bag with the other toys. That gives me a few clues to what he might be retrieving. The canes he’ll only use in the bedroom because I cry out so loudly that he fears Mrs. Hudson will hear me if he employs them in the sitting room. That only really leaves the Cupping set he rarely uses and the electrical box with all its components. My heart starts to pound in earnest again. John says only very bad boys have to feel the sharp nasty shocks from that box. I swallow nervously, suddenly feeling like I’m choking in the high collar. Had I been that bad?

John returns from the bedroom with the electrical kit and I start to shake as the adrenaline surges through me making my body tingle all over. He’s only used the evil devices contained in that box on me twice, and both times ungagged, I had begged and cried for mercy. I didn’t break and use my safe word but it had driven me damn close.

“Please,” I think frantically. I know my face tells him exactly what I am asking.

“First we’ll remove the clothes pins so I can have greater access to your balls. Then we’ll start with the violet wand.”

Start with?? He obviously intends to use the electrical stimulation kit as well as the static electricity producing violet wand. I panic. It’s not fair! I haven’t been that bad! I haven’t lied to him or used drugs again! I struggle violently against the bondage and try like an enraged fool to bite through the damn ball in my mouth. I want out of this RIGHT NOW!

John lets me fret. He patiently stands back, waiting and observing. We’ve been here before and the experience has taught him this is just part of the process. I’ll eventually accept my fate. We both know it.

 

I wear myself out and look at him, panting and still very much helplessly secured. I gasp as he lays his hand against my cheek again and rubs at the jaw muscle twitching underneath it. “Shhhh, you’ve earned this. You’ll get through it.” He murmurs with real love and understanding in his eyes.

Calm again, I blink I’m back at green. A tear slides down my cheek. He collects it on his fingers then smooths back an errant curl of hair from my forehead. “That’s better.”

He kneels quickly between my legs and I know I’d better pay attention. Since the pins have been on several minutes the bite will be worse after they come off as the skin reawakens and if he replaces them right away the pain would be intense. He’s going to test me. Other Doms might give their sub a break at this point but not my John. He always keeps his word. He has promised this will be a test of my focus.

He opens one and rubs the red angry bite mark. It stings badly as he rubs that it takes my breath away a moment. I fight to keep my focus. He removes two more and treats them the same way. He pauses and looks at me. He questions, “How many did I remove?”

This time I know better than to try to talk. I blink three times. I know I’m right but to see his pleasure in my being correct is a real reward. He nods and quickly snatches off two more then a third. I’m whimpering from the burn it is causing to my poor nutsack but I blink three more times when he raises an eyebrow at me. I’m certain I’m right. I hold my breath and he finally nods. He was playing with my mind again. There are fourteen to go. As he plucks each one off I try to keep a tally of how many remain. When there are only four left clinging to me he grabs them and yanks them free all at once. The sudden ripping sensation makes me cry out against the gag. My thigh muscles try desperately to close my legs around the inferno of pain. “Well, you finally passed that test.” He states smugly as he gets up. How can I love him and hate him at the same time?

The violet wand is deceiving. It looks like a tiny glass rake brightly lit a pretty sparkling light purple. He holds it up and grins a damned Cheshire cat grin at me. He always smirks and laughs with amusement when the spark arches across from the rake to my skin and makes me flinch. I don’t see what’s amusing. He brings it close to my body, probably my nipple but I can’t look down to see. It’s not quite close enough to skin to arch, YET. I know it’s coming and that’s what makes this bad, it’s the anticipation.

ZAP.

I flinch and would pull away if I could. I’m stuck with this maniac. He runs the wand lightly down my side, across my belly and back up to the other nipple. It’s just nibbles of pain but I’m cursing at him in gibberish behind the gag. He’s enjoying this part. He knows it doesn’t hurt that badly, just brief pokes of pain as it moves but it still has a surprising effect. The impact is on my mind. I want so badly to duck, cover, move away yet I am totally helpless. There’s no stranger mind game than being under someone’s power and knowing you placed yourself willing there. He stands there smugly, enjoying the show I’m putting on. I can see the sounds I’m making are pushing him towards the edge. He runs one hand slowly over the bulge in his jeans.

He kneels and zaps my sack and I growl in frustration. He snorts, the sadistic bastard. If I could break loose I’d jump him in a second and hump his leg like a damn dog. I’d even let him film the whole thing. I just want release. I know there is a scientific reason my brain is now telling me that what he is doing stings and feels kind of good but right now I couldn’t have a scientific thought if my life depended on it! I’m flinching and jumping as he lets the electricity arc across the tiny gap between the wand and my taught skin on my balls. They are such little zaps of lightning with such a loud, terrifying sound. I’m fighting the bonds like crazy. He dips in close, giggling the way I love to hear him- freely being himself, just as hot and bothered as I am. He snorts again as he tells me, fighting hard to stay in Dom mode and complete this successfully, “Five to your cock then I’ll give you a short break.”

I try to calm down. I blink at him once, at least I think I do. I’m floating somewhere near the ceiling. 

It’s intense but honestly the five nips of pain send me even higher and I barely register them at all. I close my eyes and let go. I’m quite relaxed as I feel John remove the gag. I smell his cologne as he closes the distance between our mouths and I open mine in anticipation. Our lips collide in moans and panting from both of us. As I let him lead the deep kiss I open my eyes and peek at his face. The frown lines have receded and his eyes are gently closed.  
I’m forgiven. I pull back and murmur to him, “That wasn’t so bad.”

His evil Dom face re-emerges immediately though it is accompanied with a delightful grunt of surprise. He remarks as he puts away the violet wand, “You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, John.”

“We’re not done. You’re just getting a break.”

“Yes, John.”

He backs away from me and sits in his chair. Quietly he opens his laptop and starts tapping away. The pain in my jaw is making my eyes water and there’s a damn itch I can’t reach because my arms are still secured. My throbbing hands are keeping me out of my Mind Palace and soon this ‘break’ turns into another form of torture. I wiggle as best I can to reawaken my feet and bum.

“Sherlock,” John states from the comfort of his chair. “I can feel you thinking the word BORED. Stop it. Sit still.”

“I’m ready for you to continue, John.”

John doesn’t even look my direction before saying, “I’M not ready to continue. Sit still.”

“It hurts, John.”

“I’m sure it does. That IS the point.”

I try to stare at him hard enough to get him to comply with my wishes. He’s not even paying attention to me. I roll my eyes in frustration. I have to find something to do while John takes his break… I decide on counting the little ants I notice walking in a long trail along the window sill. He’d be annoyed to know that they have found the little experiment I left on the shelf so wisely I decide not to tell him. Besides why condemn them to death when they will help me get through this misery.

An eternity later John rises and returns to the table. He fusses with wires and connectors a moment before he selects a few. He has the signal electric box in one hand and wires with looping straps in the other. Deftly he has the base of my balls trapped in one loop and the other snuggled just under the head of my cock. He holds the electrical box so that I can watch him turn the dials and see the little pulsing light. Each blink means the current is on. At first it just tingles softly and I groan at the lovely feeling but knowing my John he’s about to turn the dial. Yep. He does. The sting each time intensifies until I’m gasping and flinching involuntarily.

“Ah, please…ah…damn it, John, please.”

He looks mildly, almost bored, at the box in his hand. His fingers are just resting on the knob. “We’ve never gotten to the highest setting, Sherlock.”

“And I hope we never do…” I can feel the electricity pass through my balls like jolts of heat. There won’t be damage I know but that knowledge doesn’t ease the sensation.

“I have every intention of reaching the highest setting today. Maybe it will make you reconsider defying my rule ever again.”

“Ow… you cannot be serious, John…ah…Fuck.”

The deep frown tells me I’ve managed to cross the line again. He flicks my cockhead firmly with his fingers and it stings. He watches the damn light on the box and very carefully flicks my glans each time the red light goes dark. He’s keeping me in constant pain- first a zap then a flick. 

“Are you sorry yet for questioning me and cursing at me?”

“YES, JOHN!” Oh God, my poor cock.

“Then let’s continue striving to reach the highest setting, shall we?”

He turns the dial and I swear there is a ring of flames around my poor cock head every few seconds. I’m yelping and cussing. He snaps his fingers to draw my focus back to the pulsing light and dials. It’s only pointing halfway on the dial. I grit my teeth to keep back my sounds as he turns it a bit more. It’s nearing the end of my tolerance level.

“Are you still green?”

I can’t answer. I’m whimpering. He eases the dial back and I can whisper again, “Y…yes, green but barely.”

“15 seconds at the highest then I’ll stop. Breathe through it.”

I nod and wait as he turns the dial again, this time all the way. The pulse is so strong I cry out and stiffen. I hear him telling me the count down and it seems like forever that electrify is passing though my helpless balls and cock. I’m almost there, I’m still breathing and grunting through it. It ends abruptly. With a shuddering sigh I relax again.

“You made it through,” he tells me proudly, patting my leg as he removes the hateful loops.

“Yep,” I answer, boneless within the ropes. The little clock on the table he keeps for the purposes of tracking my Time Outs shows he’s only been using the Estim box for about ten minutes. It seems like forever. Already I decide I never want to be taken that high with that nasty little box again. I know if I tell John this decision he’ll use it again as an effective punishment. No, I’ll just hide it somewhere he can’t find it. That’s taking a big risk of course. I don’t care. It’s worth it.

 

“Alright, nearly done, baby. Just the cane for misusing your safe word. But first I want you to shower and recuperate a little. You look exhausted.”

He reaches behind my head to undo his knots to the ropes on my arms then removes the high collar. I roll my head relishing in the freedom. He gently helps me bring my arms forward again and they practically sing to life with needles and pins. 

He’s spotted my flinching and kisses me again. He tells me softly, “You’ll feel better after you get a hot shower and some food.”

I hold up my wrapped hands to him and give him the most pathetic frowny face he’s ever seen. He doesn’t seem too impressed with this performance. “Right,” He says, obviously back to business. “Let’s get those off.”

As he unwinds the bandage and my fingers are revealed there is an intense heat I cannot ignore in my knuckles. I lean into him and whimper softly as he messages my fingers back to life one at a time. My hands are sensitive and I’ll need to add this moment into my Mind Palace later. This punishment I’ll remember and do anything to avoid having it repeated.

“All right, let’s get the rest of this bondage off.”

I nod mutely in agreement as I rub my own hands and jaw as he begins to unwind the rope around my chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMMMMM....bondage. Electricty.


	3. Caught!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is FINALLY a sorry boy. For 5 minutes.
> 
>  
> 
> He is CAUGHT redhanded! Silly boy, John isn't pleased.
> 
> New tags for Figging, oral sex.
> 
> Thank you , Lady Erin for the PSA on figging! Love the added detail.

JOHN:

 

I quickly have him untied and assist him to stand up. He’s rather wobbly on his long, thin legs and I tell him to go shower. He needs to rehydrate so I’ll make him some tea and maybe I can get him to eat something too. Instead of following my orders he stands observing me with a frown plastered on his exhausted face. I shake my head and point towards the bathroom door. “Go shower then lie down on the bed.”

“I want to stay with you,” Sherlock complains softly. He’ll need aftercare soon.

I sigh internally. “We will cuddle but the punishment is not over yet.”

A dark eyebrow arches up. I raise my hand to stop his retort right there. I add, “Sherlock, I’m certain that you knew there is further punishment coming. I won’t argue with you. Go.”

He draws in a long, shuddering breath, turns and disappears towards the bathroom without further fuss. I know he needs close contact, to feel connected again. I have to choose between reassuring him in that manner or getting something into his overtaxed system. I choose physical health over emotional bond. I think he’d expect me too anyway.

I spend a few moments in the kitchen digging around for a clean cup and saucer. As I wait for the kettle to heat I can hear him start the shower. I hope he’ll stay in it long enough to relax his strained muscles and maybe even rest his brain. I’m fairly certain he was fully enjoying the last few minutes with the blue wand- I know I was- and for the punishment to be more effective I’d like him fully grounded again for the last of its administration.

I crack the fridge a few centimeters and cringe as I look inside for anything edible for a human being. A jar with SOMETHING inside I swear is still moving is sitting near the door and I hurriedly shut it again. Sherlock is of course breaking this rule again and I’ll have to take care of it eventually. Right now I want to ignore this infraction. One, I’m already tired and two, I don’t want him to dig out the jar and explain what it is inside. I might hurl. I stand on tippy toe to reach the cabinets and finally locate a box of chocolate biscuits, not the best example of healthy food, but it is something my boy will at least nibble on.

Besides the sugar will help him endure this next part. I’ve just finished making his tea when I unexpectedly catch a small sound behind me. I turn and find it is Sherlock, wrapped in his sheet.

“Not sure you were in there long enough to actually get wet,” I mildly scold him.

“I want to be in here with you,” he answers simply.

 

“Ok, fine,” I nod and pull out a chair for him. He drops into it and stares at the plate of biscuits as though he’s never seen one before. As I’d feared he obviously hasn’t fully re-engaged his brain yet. “Go on, eat one. You need some fuel for the transport.”

He does as I ask and nibbles one very slowly, never taking his eyes off me. I decide it is ok to help him reconnect even though the punishment is not over. I lay my hand over his. I feel a bit bad when he flinches in pain at my touch. I hope my look of sympathy will help him feel better.

“You’re getting crumbs all over the table.” I tell him. He glances down then shrugs. “And in your sheet, Sherlock.”

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks so softly I almost didn’t hear him. His normally deep timbre is missing at the moment and he sounds childlike and vulnerable this way.

I reassure him at once, “It’s ok, and you’re forgiven. I will always forgive you no matter what it is that you have done.”

“Get crumbs in my sheet?” He asks, his eyes glued to mine in interest.

I laugh and nod, “Yes, of course. Easy enough to wash.”

“Put tape worms in a jar in the fridge?”

Oh so that is what’s in the jar! “Yes. I won’t be happy though…”

“Run after another criminal?”

I can see he plans to keep up with his list of naughty behavior. I lean forward and cup his chin. “I have rules in place that you’ve agreed to. I don’t like when you break them and I must punish you. But, are you listening carefully? I will ALWAYS forgive you.”

He manages to nod with his face still in my hand and munches away thoughtfully, eyes going distant. I can tell he still wants to ask something important. I wait. Finally his eyes focus on mine again and taking a deep breath he launches into it all in one long whispery question.

“whataboutwhenyouthoughtIjumpedoffofBarts?”

“Slow down, Sherlock. Ask again.” I tell him.

He takes a deep steadying breath and manages to inquire, “What about when you thought I jumped off of Barts?”

I sit back, hand falling to edge of the table in surprise. Where did this come from? I mean we’ve talked about this, dealt with this YEARS ago. “You know I forgave you long ago. What’s got you onto this again, baby?”

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

Um, ok, I’m blindsided. He looks at me concerned at my hesitation to respond. I quickly tell him, “I have no intention to leave you. Why are you concerned about that?”

 

He swallows a bit of cookie and stares down at his tea cup shyly. After a few minutes he quietly adds, “I love you. I can’t even imagine living without you. And, John…”

He stalls out, tears forming. I slide closer to him and lay my hands over his trembling ones. “Look at me. It’s ok. And, what?”

“I made you feel that,” Sherlock says. The tears fall. “I made you grieve for me. I can’t even imagine the loss you must have felt. I am so sorry, John. I never want to lose you and feel the way I made you feel.”

I sigh. The pain will never leave me from that moment I thought I had lost the man I love and now I knew it would never leave him either. “I forgive you.

Always. No. matter. What.”

“Ok”, he says calmly. As usual, he changes gears almost instantly, “Then shall we finish this punishment so we can cuddle?”

He can shift very fast from one topic to another and leave me far behind in the dust wondering what the Hell just happened. This time I was having none of it. He’s in a vulnerable state and needs me to guide him. As he starts to rise I grab his arm and flip him around to sit on my lap. His head drops to my shoulder and without a fight or comment he accepts my embrace. “You idiot,” I remark. “You can have a cuddle now if you need one. They’re free.”

He nestles in against my body, his long legs bent at the knees and propped up by the rungs of the chair. Like a Great Dane puppy he still thinks he’s a tiny lap dog. I bury my nose in his soft black curls and inhale his scent. Having a very sensitive scalp, he tries to wiggle away. “Sit still,” I warn him. With a quiet murmur of complaint he finally releases a deep breath and collapses boneless in my arms.

“There’s a good Sherlock.”

I know I’ll only get a few minutes of this peace so I close my eyes, waiting. Sure enough, he is soon wiggling again and pulling away, his tolerance for sentiment having been reached.

He sits up and turns his head to look at me, his eyes sparkling again. He has made up his mind about something and intends to tell me. He says almost cheerfully, “Since you’ve forgiven me there is no need for further punishment, John.”

And who says I can’t deduce? I set my resolve and respond firmly, “I’ve already indicated there WILL be further punishment, Sherlock. I ALWAYS keep my word.”

I know a rocket is about to ignite, I can see it in his eyes. I grip my chair knowing exactly when and how to react to it. Sherlock stands and stalks a few steps from me before he begins his heated rant. “You don’t have to continue! I’m not a bloody damn child! I’ve apologized, you said you forgive me. Just let this go!”

He steps back again as I rise, silent and calm. Years ago I would have yelled back adding petrol to his fire. We would have been arguing for hours until I would simply give up and storm out. I’ve long since learned to handle his outburst though it will take everything inside to muster the strength to carry it out properly. I square my shoulders and add a touch of the old CPT Watson to my bearing. 

 

“Please, John?” Sherlock adds, obviously uncertain now on why he has started down this slippery slope to begin with.

I point silently towards the bedroom and watch as his face scrunches up in frustration. He stamps his foot, shakes his head and exactly like a child says, “No, I don’t want to.”

Swiftly I nab his arm and pull him with me as I take my chair again. I’m not happy I have to remind him to treat me with respect and to obey me. I’d rather be doing something fun with him. He struggles as he lays over my lap, his lovely buns covered in only a thin layer of sheeting. I move it aside and caress bare flesh. I decide to keep it short and to the point. He knows I’m angry and he understands why. I deliver ten sharp spanks to his quivering bottom. I’m done lecturing for now. He grabs at my hand, obviously trying to block me. Not finished with his struggles apparently. I slap his hand away and drop my hand ten more times. Each new swat is met with a grunt. He actually hates over the knee spankings and I’m surprised he’s not fighting harder than he is. When I deliver a smack and get a whimper I know I’m reaching him. Finally he lays limply over my lap as I swat him twice more on each reddening globe. My handprints stand out clearly against the rest of his pale skin. He sniffles. Gently, I rub circles over his back as I tell him, “You will obey me, Sherlock. Obey and be respectful.”

I tip him so that he is made to stand. His hands wander to his bottom as he rubs at it. The spanking wasn’t that hard; simply a quick reminder. I feel he needs just a bit more.

I reach into a drawer and pull out a copy of our contract. Showing it to him I ask gently, “Does this still matter to you?”

A tear slides down his cheek and he nods. “Of course, John.”

“And what does line four in paragraph six say?” I ask and I watch as his eyes go distant as he views the contract in his head.

In the same tone he recites his deductions for me and Greg, he answers, “Paragraph six, line four states that you, John, will decide the punishment that most suits the transgression and further, that once decided upon and announced, said punishment will occur right away or within a reasonable amount of time following the transgression.”

“Correct. And line five?”

An inhale then Sherlock adds smoothly, “Line five states that no amount of pleading, bargaining or debate shall alter the punishment once decided upon. Such actions on my part can lead to additional punishment.”

 

“Additional punishment which you just received,” I tell him firmly. I wait till he makes eye contact again. I ask, “Do you understand this contract?”  
“Yes, John. I’m sorry about the tantrum. I’m sorry I earned more.” Tears are threatening again.

Sherlock, thank you for the apology.”

 

He sighs. Quietly he turns away and slowly shuffles into the bedroom. I follow behind him and accept the sheet as he hands it to me. I lay the contract on the bedside table observing Sherlock as he stretches out carefully on the bed. I sit at his side and lay a hand on his belly. Only the bedside lamp illuminates his body and in this low light his pale body seems to glow. The tiny red spots on his chest and balls still look angry and sore. I’ll have to fix that later.  
“Six with the cane. Flip over.”

“The senior cane?” He asks quietly as he obeys me, his voice quaking slightly with a raw edge from crying.

“No, I think you’ve had quite a lesson today. I’ll use the lightest one, ok?”

He nods and turns his head so that he can watch me fetch it from the closet. As I have promised, I return with our thin cane. It stings but doesn’t bring real agony like the heavier senior cane. He buries his face into his pillow and his body is softly trembling. He’s very close to reaching his end point for tonight. I lay the cane against his red, swollen bottom and muffled, I hear him whimper. 

“You don’t need to count.” I tell him.

I barely lift the cane before dropping it. The sound as it swishes downwards towards his unprotected region still causes him to tense. It leaves behind a faint pink line. He doesn’t move as a flick it again just a bit lower this time than the first. There’s a flinch and a sniffle. He’s on edge and feeling very vulnerable. Even though this isn’t a hard caning I know he feels repentant about defying me. Feeling sorry for your actions always makes the punishment just a bit emotionally painful too.

I deliver the last four stinging stripes onto his pale bottom and crisscross it like red roads on a map. His breathing is hitching, and though he is hugging his pillow tightly I can hear broken hearted sobs. He’s sounds exactly like the sorry little boy he surely feels.

I toss the cane to the floor, sit beside him and run a soothing hand on the stinging welts. He hisses at the ache at first but relaxes after a few minutes as I comfort him. I lay next to him and gather him into my arms. There is no resistance. “All over now.” I remark.

I have to tug the pillow away to see his face. Eyes red and watery, he looks miserable. I know he needs this- for me to guide him firmly and correct him when he strays but I think sometimes punishing him is just as hard on me as it is on him. I am a doctor after all. My instinct tells me to protect him. Well, if my boy needs punishment to ensure he doesn’t harm himself or others I can protect him from himself if need be. I’m strong enough for both of us.

Sherlock attaches himself to me with his long arms and legs. He scoots his body so close that there is no separation at all between us. It will be hard to sleep this way but I know we are both about to be overcome by that need. It’s been very physically and emotionally draining for certain. 

Yawning, he wipes his face on my shoulder and he smiles sheepishly at me. I tell him, “Go to sleep, Sherlock.”

Nodding he closes his eyes. I wait and count to three in my head. As though on cue his eyes pop back open. “Yes, Sherlock?”

 

“Thank you, John. I’m sorry about defying your rules again. I’ll try not to, I really will.”

His eyes close again. I lift my head and kiss each closed eyelid gently. “It’s fine, baby. You are forgiven. Sleep.” He’s soon snoring.

I tuck his head under my chin, kissing the top of it gently. My heart is so full of love for this amazing man, it feels swollen to near bursting. As I drift off I think about how he often drives me crazy but I am able to guide him back to safe ground each time. We need each other. I'm very thankful I have him in my life. Yawning, sleep overtakes me. 

************************************

Turning over into cold sheets where there had been warmth awakens me with a start. The soft red light of the clock on the bedside table shows that I've been asleep about two hours. It's really not enough sleep for a human being; I intend to fetch Sherlock and bring him back to bed. I pass the bathroom on my way to the kitchen where I expect my boy is probably doing experiments. A soft moaning sound emanates from the bathroom halting my journey. It sounds all the world like a bad boy playing with himself. Smirking, I swing the door open as quietly as I can.

Sherlock sits on the toilet lid stroking himself with his eyes clenched closed. I sidle up to him silently, hands on my hips, waiting for the perfect time to announce my presence. Softly panting, his hand speeds up as he approaches what apparently will be -judging by his sounds- a powerful orgasm. Three more seconds, two...one. Just as his balls tighten I bark out sharply, "What do you think you are doing, Sherlock Holmes?”

Startled, his gasp and frightened look are the classic caught red handed behavior. I almost start laughing but thankfully I get back into control of myself before Sherlock observes it. He snatches a towel and drapes it over the evidence and groans as the orgasm fails to occur. 

“Well? Answer me." I threaten. His hands are hovering over his lap protectively but not actually touching. I'm sure he's straining to calm himself.

"I thought you were asleep, John."

"Obviously." I say using his favorite expression. He squirms uncomfortably under my gaze. 

“I didn't want to disturb you." He tells me earnestly. 

"Again, obviously."

"Since you are already up, I do need help with a case though." He states. I'm certain in his mind, he's simply moving on as though nothing has occurred.

"Hmmmm.... Nice redirect, Sherlock, but no."

He feigns a frown I’m not falling for and apparently suddenly puzzled by the English language remarks, “I don't understand.”

 

“You do, actually. But I'll review it for you. You are trying to redirect my attention away from this incidence of rule breaking. I'm waiting for your confession.” I explain to my boy. The deep blush in response starts in his ears and he ducks his head as it passes over his nose. 

"I'm sorry, John."

"For what?" Poor boy. He hates this part. I'm heartless. 

"Masturbating,” He tells me. 

"No, there are no big boy words for this transgression. You've been naughty. Use the proper bad little boy word."

A soft whimper slides around his clenched teeth as he argues, “I can't.” 

I order him firmly, “You will or it will be worse for you.”

Sufficiently warned he nearly whispers, “Wanking”.

I don't wish to push him further on this semantics power trip. I know if I do he'll go from sorry sub to fire breathing, destructive dragon in seconds. I'm not in the mood for fighting and slaying a dragon tonight.

“Come here,” I command. I point to a spot at my feet although I shouldn't really have to. He knows his place.

He starts to rise then halts upon seeing my dark look. He drops to all fours at once and crawls over submissively, head hung in shame. He lays his forehead on the tile just in front of my feet. Knowing how sensitive his scalp is I grab ahold of a good handful of black silky curls and yank his head up to look at me. He winces and swallows nervously when we make eye contact.

“Is my poor little boy desperate to release himself?”

As his Dom I love employing nasty trick questions to trap my sub. A yes answer and he will suffer weeks waiting for an orgasm. A no will usually end in the same result because I will wait until he is desperate. In addition if it is no, he is lying and will be punished. Sherlock is bright enough to know he is in a classic trap. I can see in his golden flecked blue-grey eyes that he is searching desperately for the loophole.

“Only from wanting you, John.”

Hmmmmm. He's good. I give him credit for that. Smiling gently, allowing my hand to slide from his hair down to his cheek for a warm caress, I tell him, “You are sweet. I'm going to let you finish.”

He seems stunned. His eyes narrow in suspicion.

“It’s fine, Sherlock. Once you're finished I'm going to wash you up and put you back to bed. Go ahead, touch yourself.”

“Your parameters?” He questions.

“Stroke slowly and cum only with my permission.” I tell him.

 

The light dawns in his eyes. He confirms what he suspects, “Ah, you'll make me edge myself.”

I smirk and chuckle at his concern, “Deduction is handy, isn't it? Yes. I intend to edge you quite a few times actually.”

“Knowing it’s going to happen doesn't make it any easier getting through it…” He starts to complain.

I raise my hand before he continues, “I can change my mind- put you to bed right now if you're going to be a smart ass about it.”

He lays his head down on my feet and whines softly, instantly regretting his mouth leading him astray yet again.

I repeat my orders, “Stroke slowly and cum only after being given permission.”

He sits back onto his heels and takes his swollen cock in hand. The vision of his long fingers wrapped around his flesh and stroking slowly is sending a wave of warmth downwards into my groin that will be nearly impossible to ignore long. This is going to torture both of us.

“How does that feel, Sherlock? .... No, keep your eyes on me!”

His eyes snap open but they are glazed and even his voice is frayed, almost breathless. “Intense with you here, John,” He gasps. “Incredible.”

The rush of blood to my cock makes me moan. I start to run my hand over my hardening length but stop myself. I need to pace this better or we’ll both blow within seconds. “Slow down... More!” 

He's strains to slow down. I see and hear his desperation. Slow painful stroke after stroke is pushing him to the edge. I'm getting closer to it too and I'm still just watching him.

“Please John may I cum?” He gasps out suddenly, sounding in pain from holding back.

Thank God he reached the cliff edge before I did. Now I can guide Sherlock instead of him pulling me helplessly over it with him. I deny him, “No. You may not cum... I didn't say stop either.”

“John! I can't.... Ah…” He starts to tremble, his hand moving so slowly I'm not really certain it passes as movement. He won't be able to hold back much longer; maybe not even one or two torturous strokes.

“Stop. Rest.” I order.

He sighs in relief, drops his hands immediately to his sides and waits for my instructions. He’s nearly hyperventilating. My own cock is straining for attention in sympathy.

“Lay down on you back, legs apart hands under your head, don't move.”

He complies right away but seems puzzled. I smirk at him. I love when he's so overwhelmed he can't deduce. It makes him seem so... human. Not the fake persona he puts on sometimes for the benefit of clients but something real, vulnerable and open. He trusts me - even now. 

“Stay here in this position. I wanted to do this tomorrow but perhaps you need it now.” I explain as I back through the bathroom doorway. Now I've really peaked his curiosity. I can see the deduction wheels trying to spin already. I must hurry before they catch traction.

 

I enter the kitchen on a mission. Earlier I had returned from shopping with a lovely surprise for my boy. I hadn't meant it to be a part of a punishment session but now on second consideration it seems to fit the situation delightfully well. I snatch the bag from the refrigerator- I had hidden it with the vegetables knowing Sherlock would never look there- and head back into the bathroom. Sherlock lies on his back as ordered and is staring up at the ceiling. He turns his head to look at me standing by the door holding the bag up so that he can get a look at it as I prepare it for use.

"Horseradish root." He says almost nonchalantly in his deductive voice. 

“Yes, very good,” I answer. “Do you know what it's for?”

“Yes, John. You have prepared it for anal insertion.”

I snort at his answer. Sometimes his logic can make even the most unusual sexual act sound so mundane. I pull out the large root out of the bag and spread warm water over the peeled and dildo shaped surface. The warm water will act as a lubricant that will not interfere with it's potency. In fact, the juices mixing with the water will help spread it it's power into his quivering hole. I've carved it to have a nice handle so that I may control it more accurately. “Yes, indeed. Now bring your legs up and hold them up.”

His tight pink asshole is exposed as he obeys me. Deftly with one hand I spread extra lube into his hole then with the other guide the entry of the root. He hisses as I press it forward relentlessly. Once it is in place Sherlock’s breathing hitches and he moans in supplication.

“Hot, isn't it?” I ask as I slide it back and forth in his anal canal.

“Ah God, yes, John.” His voice is hoarse.

Curious, I wonder, “Worse than ginger?”

Panting, eyes drifting closed, he nods and wiggles his hips trying to douse the fire I'm sure.

“Then the heat should add to your desperation I think.”

His legs are shaking as he keeps himself open for me. He murmurs, “Yes, John... Ah… it's right over my prostate...please can you move it, I can't move at ...ah.”

I stroke the root in and out listening to his sounds turn into soft groans that are nudging me ever closer to orgasm. Several drops of pre-cum have dribbled from his rigid cock and leave a silvery line between the cock head and his belly. He’s had enough rest.

“All right boy, back on your knees and stroke yourself!”

With a deep resigned sigh he resumes his previous position and activity. His hand is soon slick from the copious amounts of pre-cum oozing from his tortured cock. He tugs at his balls desperately as he looks up at me and one hand glides slowly down his length. Before he even asks to cum, I hold my hand up. He shivers in misery.

 

His hips are grinding back onto his heels and I know the deep aching burn in his ass is driving him insane. I really ought to take pity on him- but I have no intention to, “Here, get up, let me help you with that, poor boy.”

Reluctantly he stands. Surely he has recognized my sickly sweet sarcasm. Maybe not, he is dazed. Even the slow movement seems to torture his ass and he thrusts back and forth quite helplessly. “Turn around, face the mirror. Make eye contact with me in the mirror boy. Watch my face as I make you cum.”

He takes his position in front of me, hands locked behind his head, legs spread. He gasps as I move in close grasping his cock firmly with one hand and the horseradish root dildo with the other. I thrust it hard into him and yank it nearly out very quickly. He has no time to adjust as I continue to thrust. At the same time I tease his cockhead with my fingers, barely applying any pressure at all. He's soon pleading with me, panting sharply.

He's snapping his hips back and forth driving himself back onto the root. His cock lengthens and rises with my attention. His sounds turn guttural, subhuman. I remove my hand at the last moment possible and Sherlock nearly collapses back into my arms, cursing at me and moaning pitifully.

“Watch your tongue and straighten up, boy.”

His head shakes on my shoulder. He's trembling and whimpering for mercy. I'm so damn hard watching him suffer that I'm taking this break, not to torture him, but to get back into control of myself.

As his breathing finally slows again he utters, “Fuck.”

I agree completely with this sentiment but don’t reply.

He finally manages to find a proper stance again but he looks shaken, worn. Perfect.

I maneuver a few more drops of lube onto the root, onto my hand around his cock and resume his punishment. He's soon right back to his desperate state, taking deep gasps of air through gritted teeth. His cockhead is so sensitive now that each stroke must feel like sand paper. Slicked up now, my hand picks up speed and just as his orgasm crashes over him he cries out helplessly, “Please?”

“Yes, Sherlock, cum for me.”

His eyes locked on mine in the mirror he spurts long ropes of cum all over the counter. It's been a few weeks since I had last released his need. I'm certain there's guide a bit more still stored in those balls. I intend to milk him of as much of it as I can. 

He's completely compliant as I guide him into the shower by nudging the root still implanted deeply in his ass. Once in the shower he turns towards me, a questioning raise of an eyebrow.

“Need to wash that naughty little dick of yours, don't we?” I ask.

His eyes widen, realization dawning as he watches me lift up the netted bath scrub and he shakes his head. “No, please, John?” He whines.

 

“Is that your safe word, then?”

A moment later he hangs his head, resigned.

“I didn't think so.” 

I grab his overstimulated cock in one hand and hold it firmly. He stands perfectly still watching as the rough pad closes in on his cock. I barely apply pressure as I slide it over the purple head. He hisses between clenched teeth and tries to back away. I squeeze his cock and scrub at it in earnest. His whimpers turn to sharp cries. I'm not damaging skin, I know that for certain, but anyone hearing him would think he's being flayed alive.

“Such a naughty, dirty little cock isn't it,” I tell him.

Sobbing, he nods. I have him pressed against the wall, his hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his side. He wiggles and squirms but I am holding his cock tightly for my special attention. Soon, as I had expected, his limp cock starts to return to a rigid state very much against his will. Once I am satisfied that he's quite hard and desperate again, I announce, “There, that's better. All clean.” 

As I move away he continues to thrust at the air, amusing me greatly.

“Kneel and pleasure me,” I order him. He drops to his knees, frees my aching cock from my sleep pants and licks at the head. I'm in such a state this won't take long at all. He licks his lips and with his eyes locked on mine he takes me into that gorgeous mouth. He moves slowly, letting my cock slowly sink into the lava of his mouth. He's in control now. I can't breathe or think straight anymore. 

“Fuck,” I hear myself cry out but I'm floating somewhere on an ocean of intense pleasure. I'm just cresting the wave when Sherlock, my beloved boy, releases me and sits back on his heels with a smirk- the one that makes me want to strangle him or kiss it off. Killing is more on my mind this time as he allows my orgasm to subside.

“I didn't tell you to stop,” I manage to mumble. Why is stringing a few simple words together so damn difficult?

“I want to hear you say it... Please?” He begs. It takes me a moment to think through the haze and identify what he’s asking for. Stubborn, I’m not going to let him win.

“I love you. Now suck me.”

He laughs almost childishly, but the longing look in his eyes is not childish at all, “Not that! I know you love me. Say it! Come on! You know what I need to hear!”

“Your punishment is not over, Sherlock and I dare say you may be adding to it.”

“I accept that. Please say it.”

“You're going to really pay for this....” I groan as I consider my options. I can complete this with my own hand and ignore him. But that was far from satisfactory.

“I imagine I will, John. I need this. Please?”

I inhale slowly, trying in vain to calm myself and get back into control of the situation. My cock is doing the thinking apparently. I grasp his hair and pull him over viciously. With tight lips he refuses to open his mouth to engulf me. We're at an impasse here.

“Fine,” I grumble. He needs me to say it and I need to cum RIGHT now.

He looks up with hope filling his gaze and I relent. I admit, “I'm gay, Sherlock. Alright? Gay for you, you ass.”

He puts one hand over his heart as though putting my words there. Not sentimental, huh? Horse feathers! I ask, already knowing the answer, “Putting it into your mind palace?”

“Obviously, John. It helps me through the hard times, difficult cases…”

“I'm having a HARD time right now... Care to help me out now?” I ask as I snort at my own joke. Sometimes when I’m the most vulnerable, my Dom mask slips a bit. Sherlock says that’s when he knows this bond of ours is special- when I let him see both sides of my true nature.

His mouth embraces me in its hot, wet caress so quickly I grasp at the shower walls to brace myself. If I hadn't I'd be a ball of goo on the shower stall floor. I don't really know for sure if Sherlock is good at giving head; I never make it very long. I get too damn close to the cliff edge while I hurt him and he fuels my passion with his desperate sounds. By the time we get to this part, I quickly succumb to the heat and pressure.

With my hand still on his head, I grasp the back of it and still his movement. I place the other hand with the first to keep him where I want him. His eyes widen at first, uncertain. This is new.

“I'm going to fuck your goddamn throat, Sherlock.”

I thrust forward, loving the resistance I feel and the slight panic I see. But as I set my fast rhythm he relaxes and sips air through his nose on my way outwards. He's calm again, accepting, fully trusting. 

My orgasm rips violently from my groin and I'm certain, that like a bee losing its guts as it stings, my balls have torn free from my body and passed into Sherlock’s waiting mouth. I release his head, still groaning from the pleasure. He gently licks me clean, being very careful not to overstimulate me the way I did him. Glancing down, I see him straining still, glistening dew on the reddened, scrubbed almost raw cockhead. 

“I think I'm going to need to keep that little dick of yours in a cage from now on. It keeps getting you into trouble.”

He replies softly, “Yes, John.”

“Get up, boy, let’s slip that horseradish root out.”

He complies by standing and turning slowly. He knows better than to let it slip out on its own. As he is closest to the water spray I turn it on and leave the handle on the cold setting. He gasps and wiggles away from the water for a moment. I'm in his way for a full escape however. 

“Cold shower will do you some good, Sherlock. Now bend over so I can see what I'm doing to this tight little hole.”

 

With a reluctant sigh, Sherlock leans forward to brace his hands on the shower walls. I twist the root handle until it moves more freely then begin to thrust it in and out. I know there is a burning itch driving my boy mad as I do this. He's panting in time with my quick hard thrusts. Before the fire can turn to pleasure I yank the root free. I pick up the bath scrub again from where I'd tossed it down after torturing Sherlock’s cock and with my free hand I spread his ass cheeks fully exposing his gaping hole.

“We'll need to clean this too,” I tell him with a sneer. He can't see my face but my tone clearly carries my expression to him. He lets his head hang.

I brush over the puckered hole and he starts to whimper as I scrub at the sweet, sensitive flesh. After wrapping the rough netting over two fingers, I spit onto them and rest them against his entry. “Open up,” I scold him as I see the hole close tightly. At my command he relaxes and it blossoms open again. I push my fingers inside, thrusting and scissoring, not giving him time to accept. He sobs as I penetrate him over and over.

“You are a naughty boy. I alone may bring you pleasure!”

He cries out, perhaps from the burning from the scrubbing of his hole and perhaps from heartbreak too. I know he hates disappointing me. 

“Please, John...”

“Please what, boy?”

 

“Help me be good, please! I need you.” He begs. Suddenly his hole contracts hard around my hand, and he gasps, “Oh John...”

I know he can't ask; is too afraid to cum without permission during punishment.

“Cum, Sherlock."

He cums then on my command with my two fingers thrusting hard into his prostrate. With a whimpering grunt, he collapses to his knees, no control over muscles. I follow him down and pull my fingers free. I drop the scrub pad and grasp him under the arms, pulling him back into my embrace. Sighing, he lays his head on my shoulder.

“Call Gavin,” he murmurs.

“Greg, why?”

“You just killed me, John.”

“You idiot,” I say, softly stroking his arm.

“I can't move, no legs.”

“Shhhh, just rest here a moment,” I command. “I need to get one last thing.”

He sounds truly alarmed this time. Still a tiny bit of fight in him as I suspected. “More? Surely you are jesting? John, believe me, I'm going to behave forever after that punishment. You don't need to add anything else!”

 

A firm CPT Watson slides back into place as I ask, “Who decides?”

 

“You do, John,” He stammers somewhat reluctantly and after a moment of hesitation he adds, “I'm sorry.”

 

“I'll be right back,” I say. I rise, quickly towel off my feet so as not to slide on the tile, and go in search of the item I need that is in a drawer in the kitchen. I return with it to find Sherlock still slumped in the shower. I set it on the counter and lift up a fluffy towel.

“Right, let's dry you off and finish this, shall we?”

Moaning for sympathy he rises and steps out of the shower, shivering. I dry him down gently. He's riding the razor edge of complete exhaustion and submission again, worn down. This last punishment should ensure at least a few days of peace for me. I pick up the ruler from the counter.

He eyes it in my hand dubiously. “What do you intend to do with that?”

 

I arch an eyebrow at him, frowning. He knows perfectly well what the ruler is for. I decide to answer him anyway. “Your cock has been punished, that just leaves your hands. Six to the back of each should do it.”

He puts his hands behind his back, shaking his head. His eyes become glassy from tears on the verge of spilling. 

“Using your safe word?”

He backs away at first then with a soft cry of frustration, steps back into place. He lays a shaking hand on the counter. His face set in stone- determined.

“Flatten it, that's better. Now don't move. I'm going to deliver these in one go.”

I rap his knuckles quickly and not as hard as I usually do. Sherlock is wincing and gasping from each loud, painful thwack. It's taking his full effort to remain still. One hand finished, he pops it, knuckles side up into his mouth. “Other one, young man,” I remind him. A tear slides down his cheek as he reluctantly sets his hand in place. As I lift the ruler he draws it back quickly.

He sees my dark look of disapproval. “Sorry, sorry...” He tells me quickly. “I'm scared. I'll do it right....please don't add to the punishment. Please John!”  
“I know you're scared, boy. It's ok this time, no extra. But keep still.”

 

Six solid whacks to his knuckles and he's dancing around, shaking both hands in misery. I take pity on him and embrace him by the waist. “We're done now, baby. Come let's cuddle in bed, ok?”

He allows me to guide him to the bedroom and crawls in ahead of me. The moment I lie down he leaches onto me, his head back on my shoulder.

“This time, stay put and sleep!”

“Yes, John, I'll be good.”

I hope he doesn't hear the snort. Be good? Yes, but for how long? I don't get a chance to ask him. He's already asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should heed John's warning- just stay OUT of trouble!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely Kudos!!!!!!!!!


	4. Sherlock Wants to Agree to A Demonstration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John prepare for a BDSM demonstration. That is, after Sherlock has fully annoyed John again and John takes care of business. A very dominant John emerges. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

JOHN:

“I will not argue with you, Sherlock, you may not go and that is final. You need rest from Friday’s transgression and punishment.”

“But Edward invited us. We haven’t gone in ages.” He answers back with crossed arms and stiff back. This reminding too much of our first days together as flatmates and I won’t go backwards in our relationship. He wants me in control, then in control I shall be.

“No, and I’m sorry, I love watching Edward’s BDSM demonstrations as much as you do. We are however having a quiet meal in together and an early bed.”

He’s breathing like a fire breathing dragon through his nose and it’s never a good sign. I grit my teeth and prepare for his verbal assault. Instead, like a petulant child, he turns away from me and throws himself onto the sofa, his long pale body barely covered in the sheet. My temper is rising as it always does when he’s in this mood. One more snotty remark from him and it will be the tipping point today. I stare at his back a few more seconds then decide it will probably be best just to let him be- for my own sanity. He isn’t going to listen to reason anyway. 

Grumbling about drama queens and their idiotic behavior I walk into the kitchen with every intention of having some tea and something to eat. I find the tea tin empty and the jam jar sitting in the freezer for some reason. “What the hell, Sherlock?” I mumble as I nab the jam jar and twist it open.

“SERIOUSLY? SHERLOCK, why is there a … gall bladder… in MY jam jar in the freezer?”

He doesn’t answer. Of course not. Brat. I try again with more authority in my voice, “Sherlock, front and center! Now!”

Normally there would be a wild flurry of movement of long limbs and squeaking from dress shoes on linoleum when I bark that order. This time there is not even the tiniest hint Sherlock is obeying it. Puzzled, I go to find my boy. He is still on the sofa, now completely covered toe to head in the sheet, a pillow over his head being tightly pressed down over his ear. It’s almost funny. Almost. I stride right up to him and swat his sheet covered bum. There’s a very faint grunt, nothing else.

“Fine, stay there. I need tea and FOOD. I’m off to Tesco,” I growl at his back. I see, maybe, a slight shrug from the sheet. “I will deal with you when I get back.”

Grabbing cash from his wallet, a long list from the kitchen and my jacket I head out. I haven’t even reached the shop before I get a text message from Sherlock who’s apparently had a spontaneous, dare I say miraculous, recovery from spoiled brat syndrome. 

We need Lye – SH

I type back- We don’t use Lye.

 

For the gall bladder experiment – SH

I avoid stepping in front of a bus as I try to cross the street and type back at the same time. I don’t see how young people do this.

I write: Discussing rule #2 when I get back. Broken that one twice now!

There’s a slight pause just long enough that I think Sherlock has come to his senses and dropped the issue for the time being. I pocket my phone and enter the store. I’m two steps inside and reaching for a basket just as my phone dings softly at me. I whip it out a bit aggressively and the lady at the check stand glances at me in alarm. I smile and shrug at her.

Tape worms are not part of a human body, John. I thought you were a doctor. I have therefor only broken rule 2 once this week. Don’t forget the Lye – SH

I’m going to kill you – JW

I can take that threat to Gavin you know. You’d be investigated – SH

GREG might offer to help me – JW

One last ping on my phone: LYE – SH

I’m thinking more along the lines of rat poison as I shop. An hour later I have managed not only to find food, tea and lye – who knew it would be so difficult to find- but I have also navigated the interaction with the self-checkout machine. Feeling proud of this accomplishment I’m on my way home and pause to alert Sherlock by text. I’m hoping he’ll at least open the door when I get to the flat.

There’s no response. I frown and try calling his phone instead. When he doesn’t answer I am torn between two feelings- worry and anger. Most people would tell me I’m being silly or over-reactive. My response to them is this: try living with this man then tell me I’m over-reacting.

I trot the rest of the way home and push the flat door open with my foot as I juggle the bags precariously stacked in my arms. I can see right away that the Belstaff and scarf he adores are missing from their hooks by the door. My anger moves up several levels from annoyance to blistering steam pouring out of my ears. Knowing that Sherlock is merely testing the boundaries again doesn’t help. I quickly toss the food into the refrigerator and leave the flat to hunt down my tall, lanky rebel.

I know just where he is and when I get there… ok, calm down, I tell myself as I enter the cab. Sherlock pushes buttons and he just might be trying to push mine now, however, he is also prone to impromptu decisions that unintentionally break the rules. He actually may not recall I told him he couldn’t go. I’m just going to have to work around that excuse and come up with a viable way of correcting this transgression so that he won’t be able to use it again.  
I arrive at our friend’s BDSM club dressed like a dad. I feel I am chasing down my errant preschooler anyway so maybe my clothing is appropriate.

Thankfully Sherlock and I are well known here. At this time of day the club hasn’t even opened yet for the evening. I knock and wait. Freddy, the bartender, smiles as he lets me enter. As I pass him in the doorway he says, “Wondered when you’d get here, John. He’s in the back with Edward I think.”

 

As I pass other staff members they give me a wide berth. I think my mood and purposeful stride alerts them to my mission, seek and destroy. Edward’s office is at the very back of a long hallway. When I reach it I pound on the heavy door, hopefully leaving no doubt in my boy’s mind that his Dom has arrived. I hope he’s having an anxiety attack.

“John! Haven’t seen you in ages!” Edward announces as he swings the door open and grips my hand. “I’m glad you and Sherlock have agreed to participate in our tenth anniversary demonstration tonight!”  
Participate? Before I can ask I hear Sherlock answer, “We appreciate the invitation, Edward. You’ve been very supportive of us all these years and we are only too happy to reciprocate in kind.”

“Excellent,” Edward remarks as he shows me in.

“How’s your son’s case going now?” Sherlock asks him. I find my boy sitting calmly in the chair in front of Edward’s broad desk, long legs crossed comfortably. I’m not sure he realizes he has broken another rule so soon after his last punishment. Inwardly I sigh, so much for an enhanced punishment having a lasting effect on him.

I take a seat next to him and watch Edward pour himself a large glass of brandy. Having lived with an obsessive deduction machine for nine years has given me reasonable deducing powers of my own. Edward is drinking early, his hand shaking with strong emotion as he sets the tumbler onto his messy -normally tidy- desk. “Drink, gentlemen?” He offers.

Sherlock and I both decline. I ask him quietly, “Yes, how is Thomas? How is he handling his wife’s death?”

“Oh fine, fine,” Edward answers, his eyes a bit distant. “Well, you know these things take time I guess.”

I nod. Sherlock sits forward, eyes gleaming at the mention of the unsolved murder.

“Surely you have called me here for another reason other than for participating in your demonstration,” Sherlock adds to the conversation. He says purposely, “His wife’s killer still has not been identified?”

Edward sighs, “No. The little evidence there is, is not enough to establish even a motive.”

Sherlock queries with interest, “Which detective is handling the case?”

“Longbow.”

Sherlock frowns upon hearing this and I grit my teeth. Detective Longbow is young, inexperienced and in Sherlock’s mind, an absolute imbecile. We’ve had two or three very nasty run-ins with the detective and I had to punish Sherlock for the blistering comments he leveled at him each time. If Sherlock was going to look into this case I knew we were in for very long sessions together to keep his temper in check.

“I’ll speak to Detective Longbow tomorrow about the case with your permission,” Sherlock announces, standing. “We’ll go prepare for tonight’s demonstration and return shortly.”

 

He spins and stomps off with a flourish of Belstaff and blue scarf before I can even rise. As I do, I give Edward an encouraging smile and tell him, “With Sherlock on the case there should finally be some results.”

Edward murmurs, “I hope so, John. My son is so… well, discouraged… I guess you’d call it. Losing hope of getting any justice for Mandy.”

"I understand completely, Edward and I'm sure you understand there be no charges for Sherlock's services."

"I do appreciate you both," Edward says as he walks me to the door. "And thanks for tonight too."

“Well, thank you for the invitation. I'm honored. I have some new ideas, should make for a really powerful demonstration of submission,” I say as I shake his hand. “I’m going to need the wooden CBT board tonight, alright?”

This lightens Edward’s mood as he pumps my hand enthusiastically. He snorts as he tells me, leaning forward confidentially, “I wondered why Sherlock showed up before you! He’s in trouble. I can always tell.”

 

“Oh, he has no idea what’s coming. See you tonight.”

 

Outside Sherlock has at least had the sense to wait for me. He leans against the building, hands in his pockets. He’s relaxed and happy, my very favorite version of my boy. Even in deep trouble, he still manages to elicit intense feelings of love and desire in my heart. His eyes are practically glowing with excitement. He’s not thinking about the demonstration, I know, but about murder. Well, tonight I will change that.

 

****************

 

I supervise as I tell Sherlock which leather gear he should pack for us. He’s acting nonchalant, as though we are packing for a holiday instead of a BDSM club. I correct him as he reaches for his favorite posture collar, “Not that one. Bring the dog collar and leash.”

His eyes darken as he frowns. He hates the plain dog collar with its rabies tag and ID tag that jingle together as he moves. I wonder if he will whine about it but he does not. He simply places the collar and leash upon the neatly folded leather gear already in the bag. 

“Don’t forget my gloves.”

“In the side pocket already, John.”

“That’s it then?” I ask. When he nods I crook a finger at him and order, “Come here then, I want to look at you.”

 

Silently he steps over to me, his freshly showered body naked and exposed to my inspection. He places both hands behind his head, interlacing his fingers in the dark curls. I handle his cock roughly to harden him and then walk behind him. I run a finger along his spine slowly and like a cat, he moves just slightly beneath it, his breath hitching. I move forward and place one foot between his legs and nudge them further apart with my knee. I remain there behind his back out of sight, just a bit too close for most people’s comfort level. For Sherlock this much intimacy is likely overwhelming him already. I’m no longer touching him but I’m sure his radar is on full alert.

“I did not agree to participate tonight, Sherlock. I also told you we were not attending tonight’s demonstration.”

A slight tremor moves down my boy’s body. I haven’t asked a question so he remains silent, obediently waiting for instruction. I softly place a hand on his hip and watch as he flinches from the sudden touch. He’s keyed up and I’m fine with that. He should be.

“Tonight at the demonstration I will punish you for failing to meet my expectations,” I say. He shifts subtly on his feet and I pinch his hip to remind him to keep still. “You will submit to me perfectly, young man, or we will stay there and work on it until you do.”

I leave him and sit on the bed, pushing the bag with leather gear out of my way. I indicate that his new position is over my lap. He obeys at once. His smooth, pale bottom flexes as he struggles to find a comfortable position. I don’t wait for him to settle. I light into him as hard and fast as my anger drives me to. He grunts in surprise but lays still, taking it as his ass turns pink with my handprints.

“I told you no this afternoon, do you remember that?”

“Yes, John,” he answers softly, grunting through gritted teeth.

I bring my hand down adding blistering heat to his sit spots, “Speak up so I can hear you!”

Shakily, he answers more loudly, “Yes, John.”

I’m timing my strikes to coincide exactly with my words. “You heard me, clearly understood my answer and decided to DEFY me. AGAIN.”

“But Edward….ow…called me … ah… while you were out.”

“And you thought I’d change my answer, Sherlock?” I ask as he tries to shift away from my descending hand. I press harder on his back with my free hand. If I have to I’ll loop a leg over his if he tries moving again. 

“No, but I thought… ow… thought that maybe he wanted me to take a look at …ow… his son’s case. OW! Please, John.”

“Lie still. I’m far from finished here,” I tell him. I reach for the paddle I keep beside the bed and he tenses at the movement. He knows what is coming. I rest the cool paddle on his scorched bum and ask, “Did you tell me you were going out?”

A pause then an answer, “No, John.”

 

“Did you lie to Edward and tell him I gave my approval to participate?”

Another hesitation. This won’t do at all. I bring the paddle down hard and he yelps out his answer, “Yes, John! I’m sorry!”

 

“In one week then, you have broken several rules and DEFIED me twice! In one week, young man! That’s a record even for you! You’d better take heed of tonight’s lesson! You better straighten yourself out or certainly I WILL!”

I don’t hear his response as the paddle smacking his ass a deep rosy red is making too much sound. His body however is demonstrating his response to the punishment. He’s struggling to remain still, his feet shifting onto his toes. He grabs his pillow and buries his face into it. His cries are now muffled. I carry on with the full intent on delivering a blistering hiding.

I hammer in my words into his bottom and upper thighs, “YOU. WILL. OBEY. THE. RULES. Say it.”

Knowing it will be worse if he doesn’t obey, he lifts his head from the pillow embraced tightly to his upper chest and howls out, “I will obey the rules, John. Oh please… fuck.”

“Mind your tongue,” I command. I add, “You will NOT defy me again.”

“I won’t defy you, john! I promise! Please… owwww… I promise I’ll be good!”

I lay a leg over his to minimize the kicking and drumming feet. I’m going to make sure he remembers this hiding for a good long time. As I continue to add fuel to the inferno in silence, Sherlock drops his head into his pillow again. He has it in a death grip. It doesn’t take long till an arm finds its way back in a futile attempt to cover his defenseless bottom from my assault. I grasp it easily and swat him extra hard on each reddened and swollen thigh. He howls out his misery and stops the struggle. I’m finally reaching him.

I deliver two more nasty smacks to his sit spots and drop the paddle beside me. I can feel the heat rising from his ass and sweat is pouring off of him. I release his hand and rub his back in slow circle. He’s crying still into the pillow but I suspect it’s from strong emotion as well as pain. “Come on out of that pillow, Sherlock.”

I pull it away and he covers his face with his hands, sniffling and sounding very much like a well spanked boy. He tries to stand, doesn’t really put much effort into it and ends up kneeling by my feet, head on my lap. I let him stay that way for quite a while. I stroke the back of his head patiently. When he’s ready he’ll let me know and then we can cuddle. He is going to need another quick shower before we head out to the club however.

 

************************

 

We change into leather at the club. It’s not that we mind or are ashamed of being seen in it out in public. In fact a few years back we took part in a lovely Gay Pride parade in the US with some friends of ours. It’s just that we both have public images to worry about in London now that Sherlock has become so well-known after he survived the elusive Moriarty and his nefarious plans.

Sherlock is actually not wearing much at all save for dog collar, wrist and ankle cuffs and an exquisite locking chastity device that blocks his wandering hands from bringing himself any relief. I made sure he was hard and straining in the straps keeping him rigid under the leather cock cover. Even though he won’t be in it very long I want to emphasize my control over him from the very beginning. 

He waits in perfect position for me- hands behind his head, feet planted far apart. His ass is so red it looks quite lovely in contrast to his pale skin. It seems to glow enticingly. I think maybe I will enrich its glow later with a few angry stripes from the club’s senior cane. I may even allow Edward to deliver six of his best since Sherlock has lied to him today. We’ll see. I grab ahold of the leash and tug. Sherlock looks a bit dazed already. There’s quite a crowd near the club’s main stage.

I pull him behind me and he falls into step quickly. Not that he has a choice. Subs that back pedal or stall in this club can be manhandled and brought to the stage by two very beefy handlers. Sherlock has experienced this only once and apparently learned his lesson from the humiliation of being carried over someone’s shoulder for me. 

We make our way through the crowd. We know most of them as they are regulars here or even personal friends. I spot Greg at the back of the crowd near the wall. I know Sherlock has likely noticed his presence too. I’m hoping Greg will move closer to the stage after I get Sherlock secured to the beam and cross bars. He’s watched us during demonstrations before but he always stays within the shadows and always leaves as I’m getting Sherlock down from the equipment. I’m not sure he is an actual member here- never seen him in a session in other words- but I’m fairly certain he attends with someone. I don’t know who. Perhaps I’ll ask Sherlock tomorrow if he knows.

I lead Sherlock onto the large stage and pull him into his place. He steps back so that he is straddling the beam with his ball sack pressed forward against it. He keeps his body perfectly still as I grab an arm and direct its movement until it is stretched out to his full capability. I fasten the clip through the D ring on the cuff. I do the same to his other wrist. A handler hands me two short lengths of lovely red rope and I bind each upper arm to the cross beam behind him. He sighs quietly and lays his head back against the wood holding him steady. I look into his eyes and drink in his smoldering need and growing apprehension. Chastely I kiss him on the lips and he moans for me, driving a warmth into my leather covered groin. I squat to tether his ankles in the same manner as his wrists. Finally satisfied, I step back and view my work.

Sherlock, still with his dog leash dangling from a simple dog collar, is laid out helplessly spread-eagled in front of me. His cock is trapped, hard and waiting, beneath a leather cover and his balls are pulled forward and yet still somewhat squashed against the beam between his legs. I prefer him without a blindfold; his eyes are wide and glassy already and he’s staring straight ahead. I love how helpless and overwhelmed he looks. He is also ungagged - I intend for his sounds to be quite loud later tonight- and I also want to be sure that the audience hears each time I make him announce his renewed promise of submission to me.

 

I turn away and accept the wireless mike from the handlers. I attach it gently over my ear then face the audience fully. Spreading my hands in a warm welcome I announce, “Most of you know me already. For those of you who do not, I am John and this is my boy, Sherlock. I’m quite happy to help out our good friend Edward for his club’s tenth anniversary by participating in tonight’s demonstration. Sherlock and I have been a team for over several years now. I thought tonight would be an excellent time to renew his vows of submission to me. I hope you enjoy the demonstration.”

As I approach Sherlock I flash him just barely a hint of a loving smile and he nods quietly. We are both ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you for the Kudos and great comments! They really encourage me to keep adding to the story.
> 
> Next chapter is a scrorching hot one with lots of BDSM action described by subby Sherlock. Please subscribe so you don't miss it.


	5. The Club Demonstration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BDSM club scene in which Sherlock submits and John loves his boy, 'guides' him through a tough session.
> 
>    
> #CBT
> 
>  
> 
> Next up: Aftercare, of course.

SHERLOCK:

John is so calm, his voice reassuring; my heart is pounding in contrast and I can barely hear him over it. “Just breathe,” he tells me several times. “I’m here with you.”

He lays a cool, gloved hand against my cheek and gazes at me a moment. His eyes are a dark shade of grey with lust; I want to curl up with him and just stare into them for a while. My heartbeat slows as his presence steadies me. “There’s my good boy. Are you at green?”

“Yes, John,” I whisper. I say it again loudly when his face becomes marred with a displeased frown, “YES, John. Green.”

“Good, I expect perfect submission today, young man. I expect you to answer me loudly and with energy.” He tells me as he shifts his hand from my cheek to underneath my chin and turns it. He is close to my side and has my face now locked in his grip, his eyes boring into my soul. “If you fail me, I will be quite angry. Understood?”

Trembling at his power, I answer as I should - as I’ve been trained to, “Yes, John. Understood.”

I don’t know why I defied him twice this week. I question every bad decision I have ever made- failing to obey John is the worst. I’m suddenly anxious again. I’ve disappointed him, made him angry and worried. I want to beg his mercy and forgiveness but know I don’t deserve either. I don’t dare speak to him anyway unless he asks me a direct question. I try to put all my emotions behind my eyes and will him to understand. He sees it, I’m sure. He accepts my silent apologies and moves away. 

Out of the corner of my eye I see him lift something metallic. As he approaches again he shows me that it is a pair of clover leaf nipple clamps attached together with a heavy chain. This pair is Edward’s own, I’m sure. They were made in Japan and the jaws are excruciatingly tight. I can’t help the slight whimper that makes it past my clenched jaw. 

He pinches and rubs at my nipples making them taught and sensitive to his touch. He grips one, opens a clamp then releases it again just behind the nub. I can’t even describe the pain. I hiss sharply and would have fallen to my knees if I weren’t tied securely. There is a fire on my chest that burns through my rebellion and perfect poise. I bite down on the pleading I want so badly to voice. My John just stands there, waiting. The pain is easing up and I can almost breathe normally again. But I know he’s going to treat the other nipple to the same action. He just touches my unmarred nipple and I shake my head. It’s not my safe word though and he ignores me. The clamp bites down just as hard as the first one did and it takes just as long to recover from its application. He holds the chain so that it does not yet tug on the clamps. It gives me time to adjust somewhat. I am so grateful for his patience. Once I seem back in control of myself, he drops the chain and I nearly come unglued. The pain is right back where it had been on both sides. I yelp loudly just once. That’s enough to annoy him.

“Bad boy, stay quiet unless you are answering my questions,” He orders. He lifts the chain again, this time holding it up above my smashed nipples, making them bend towards his hand. The fire is white hot and I’m having difficulty concentrating on John. Tears slide free as I squeeze my eyes shut. “I will tell you when I want to hear your sounds. You know damn well, boy, you have earned this!”

Oh God, there’s molten lava on my chest. I try to breathe through the pain but he’s moving the chain and I can’t adjust to it. Finally he taps my face and I look at him again. He holds the chain just under my mouth.

“Open! Take this,” he orders. I’ll have to dip my head uncomfortably downwards to take the chain but I do so because John wants me to. “That should help you keep quiet, young man.”

I let his control wash over me, accepting it. Surprisingly it always helps me handle the pain- even the intense grip of the clamps. My teeth holding the chain firmly, eyes refocused on John, I watch helplessly as he is handed a flogger. My ass, still sensitive and marked from his recent application of the paddle, will not be the target. My belly tightens in response to my thoughts.

John has practiced his swing many times; the poor sitting room pillows being a target, my poor bum being another, that he has completely mastered it. It’s all in the wrist, he’s said before many times. He can completely control the level of pain administered- from a slight whispering sting to fiery line of destruction. I admire his persistence to learn his craft.

The first swing hisses by my ear, startling me, and catches the flesh just under the nipple clamp. It’s not terribly painful, more like unexpected, and I nearly release the chain from my grip. As it is, in my reaction I have jerked my head and thus yanked on the chain, hurting myself considerably. I fight to breathe through the sharp nagging pain as John continues to lay down a heated salvo from the flogger all across my chest and belly.

I make the mistake of looking away from John, at the audience enjoying my pain. It overwhelms and frightens me. I know most of them but on the stage, with lights blinding me, they are a sea of murmuring shadows. A few are calling out different things and a few times I hear John talking to them, remarking on this or that. I can’t really understand him. He seems far away. As the pain level rises I lock my eyes on him to get myself grounded again. His face is pure. No anger, no disappointment. Just calm, down to business John. My guide. My Disciplinarian. Mine.

Catching my look, he slows down the flogging, picking out sensitive flesh to revisit. My skin moves, twitches away from the leather strips stroking it. My skin feels alive with its own brain making it react. I can’t really describe it. Pausing after a nasty flash of heat across my lower belly, he approaches me and lays his hand over the punished flesh. The leather glove makes his touch seem cool, almost comforting.

“Green?” He asks. “Just nod if it’s yes.”

It takes me a moment to comprehend the question. I finally nod very slightly trying desperately not to move the chain in my teeth.

I swear John is instantly replaced by an evil twin or another personality bent on tormenting me. He flashes me a nasty grin, eyes dancing with lust and control- and he grasps the clamp around my nipple, squeezing it mercilessly. I catch the yelp just in time before I drop the chain. He moves his hand very slowly towards the other side and my breath hitches, dying in anticipation. He rests his hands just beneath the clamp.

 

“Poor, boy.” He murmurs. I want so much for this to be my gentle, patient John to be standing here with me, caressing me. It’s not though. This is CPT Watson. A man any reasonable person would respect. A man I respectfully fear. “I imagine that pain is almost unbearable.”

I whimper as I feel his hand glide softly up over the clamp barely whispering over it. Even with a ghost touch there is fire and destruction. He wiggles it ever so gently, patiently waiting for me to relax- be lulled into trusting him again. My head is trying to scream it’s a trap. My body falls for it- muscles relaxing from their protective tension. With two fingers he twists at the clamp biting into my nipple and this time, unprepared, I yell and drop the chain. It yanks the clamps downwards sending fresh waves of agony through my chest. 

“I told you to stay quiet,” He growls at me. I’m fighting back tears and curse words. My body is shaking.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp out. This too displeases him and in an instant his flat handed slap to my belly takes my breath away. Addled, it takes me forever to figure out why he has struck me.

He sneers, obviously figuring out my confusion long before I do. “Keep your mouth shut- no noise, no speaking unless asked a question. You know this, boy. Yet you keep failing! We WILL work on this until you get it correct!”

He tugs the chain upwards, rending my soul along with torturing the nipples in the clamps as they are pulled behind it. The tears are flowing freely and I have no control anymore. “Open!” He demands. I take the chain back into my teeth and tremble as he lifts the flogger into view again. “Do not fail me again.”

It lashes out striking one sore nipple than the other. I bite down on my sounds as best as I can but they still escape as grunts. The chain in my mouth shakes with my effort to stay still. The pain is unimaginable and yet, as stroke after stroke burns my flesh off, I settle down in the rhythm raining upon me. I do not want to drop the bloody damn chain again. I won’t disappoint my John again.

It takes a moment to realize the flogging has paused. I refocus on John. He’s removing the leather cover over my straining, tethered cock. Oh God. Without the cover, I am completely vulnerable and exposed. Heat rises to my face. I feel everyone staring at my hardness for this treatment. I want to plead with them, to explain. I’m not really a freak. Loads of masochists are out there, reveling in pain and humiliation. I’m not the only one who needs this. Tears run freely down my cheeks and he’s not even hurting me at the moment. Hearing my sniffles and quiet sobs, John glances up into my eyes.

“You’re ok,” he whispers, almost secretly- although I know the audience obviously still hears him through the microphone, I feel comforted by his words. To John I’m not a freak. I’m HIS Sherlock. I whimper but manage a tiny nod.

A soft caress across my cock and I’m soaring on pleasure just that easily. Dragging a finger nail against the tight, trapped skin, he leans into me eye to eye as he continues to toy with my cock. “Mmmm, seems sensitive to touch. I imagine you don’t want it flogged then.”

 

I shake my head- well, it’s really more like an up/down sideways bobble of my head that could be indicative of yes or no. I’m already reaching the point where the pain is starting to feel good. I watch helplessly as John steps back and swings the flogger at my groin. Instinct tells a man to cover himself at any assault to the sensitive sex organs. I’m pulling hard against my bonds to bring my hands down. Unprotected, my cock and balls are easy targets. The leather strips rake across my cockhead and there are sparks of intense passion and stinging pain suddenly blasting off in my brain.

He’s talking to the audience again, I hear him in the background of my mind. I know he’s watching the color of my cock turn from a strained red to a deeper purplish hue but he’s ignoring my trembling limbs and sharp grunts. Each swishing impact begins to sting like a thousand ants biting at me as he keeps up his steady rhythm. If only he would make eye contact with me, calm me- I know I could make it through this.

The flogger moves up over my lower belly and chest again; settling to work on my agonized nipples. Tears flow over my cheeks; I struggle to keep my eyes open and on John. He finally makes eye contact as he steps up very close to my heaving body. I’m drenched in sweat from my struggles. He hands the flogger back to a handler without looking away from my eyes.

“I expect perfect obedience tonight, boy,” He commands, his features unreadable. I blink once to show I am listening and complying. He caresses my jaw with the back of one hand and almost in a casual tone remarks, “Drop the chain.”

I open my mouth immediately and stifle a yelp as the chain falls heavily against my chest; sending a ripple of pain straight to my cock. He grasps a clamp and releases its bite on a nipple. Before I can cry out he is leaning against me, one hand firmly over my mouth to silence me. I actually feel grateful for this assistance. The other clamp is removed and both nipples assaulted by hard twists, one at a time. I’m moaning behind his hand. Subtly he shifts it so that he’s also covering my nose. We’ve played this before but never in public. The desire to breathe, preserve life must be over ridden. I fight to stay calm and send vibes of absolute submission through my eyes. This time he’s watching me very closely- obviously this is not a test he wants me to fail. Just as I feel darkness close in and just before I start to struggle, he lets me breathe.

I want to kiss him, to thank him. I settle for kissing his fingers as he pulls away. He pauses long enough that I am able to plant a long, impassioned kiss on his glove.

Slowly he pulls the snaps from the leather straps holding my cock erect and once freed it bobs for his attention. With a smirk and a slap to it, he murmurs, “Soon.” I’m not really sure if that’s a promise or a dark threat.

He steps away and turns to the handlers once more. I can’t tear my eyes away from the wooden board they hand to him. He’s by my side again and allows me to view it more intently. There is a hole for my cock and balls to be pushed through to lay trapped along the top of the board and a clamp affixed to the bottom so that the board may be attached to the beam jutting between my legs. He’s used a similar one at home for needle work. Frowning, I want to ask if that is what he’ll do next. In obedience, I stay quiet. He pushes my cock and balls carefully through the hole, attaches the board to the beam and sprays the whole set-up with a disinfectant from his clinic. I’m swallowing nervously; I haven’t packed his needle kit from home. Is he doing something new?

 

He turns to the audience with one hand stroking my cock softly. “This part of the session I ask that the audience please stay silent. I’m going to need to observe my boy very carefully. As I expect him to take him beyond his current boundaries and thus be unable to safe word for himself, I’ll need to monitor his progress.”

Startled by his words, I’m sure my eyes are wide in anxiety. Instead of reassuring me or reconnecting, he continues to stroke me. I shudder as fear and pleasure grind through my helpless body.

“This will really hurt. Don’t try to hold back, I want your sounds this time. You may scream, curse, and beg if you must. You may also safe word at any time. I’m hoping you’ll trust me though to know when we need to stop. Give me your complete submission, boy.”

Instinct says no way. I have to control it. I trust in John. I blink, not trusting my mouth to agree with my heart.

“Hand me the hammer and box of nails, please.”

God, those are words no human being wants to hear when they are secured to wooden beams and fully exposed. I watch him carefully. A handler gives him a small box and a hammer.

The nails are fairly small, thank God but honestly who in their right mind allows a man to approach with a hammer aimed at their tethered genitals? Just seeing it nearly makes me safe word. I think about John, how much he loves me. He’s taught me to calm myself with deep steadying breathes. I end up gasping as he tugs the skin of my sack firmly and sets a nail against it.

“Slow your breathing down before you hyperventilate,” John commands without sympathy. He waits till I’m breathing more carefully but now I’m trembling. He ignore this and lifts the hammer. Not high. It doesn’t take a lot of force to put a nail through skin.

TAP.

There’s a sharp tearing sensation and I groan through it loudly. I allow my head to loll back against the wood holding me up. Holy Hell! Unlike the needles, this pain increases steadily before settling into a general throb. He’s nailing my balls to the wooden board and I’m going to allow him! My nose is runny as I start to helplessly cry at this realization. I feel another nail resting against stretched skin.

Tap.

It’s such a soft deceiving sound. I cry out at the nasty pinching bite and at the strange ‘punch to the guts’ feeling swiftly taking over my senses. I’m not even worried about breathing. I’m sobbing deeply enough- I’m obviously breathing.

Standing very close, John’s hand turns my face to look into my eyes. He’s blurry and seems far away as I float up to the ceiling like a drifting balloon. His other hand stretches out another strip of skin.

TAP.

 

I’m pretty sure that was me yelping and begging. There’s heat and pain but I’m not feeling it. The poor guy on the cross and beam is feeling instead. I’m just going to fly a bit. Thank you.

John’s hand presses down on the areas of stretched skin and the sharp pain draws me right back into my body. I scream in near panic as I feel him set a nail in the center, right near my drawn up testicles. 

“Last two,” my hammer wielding maniac tells me. 

TAP.

The fire is so intense I can’t make a sound this time, just gasp for breath. I feel him place the second nail close to the first. My brain can’t engage to form words. I’m at the end of my tether.

TAP. 

I can’t do anything but hang limply as the pain washed over me. I’m crying uncontrollably. Thankfully, John is instantly pressed into me murmuring my name softly into my ear and calling me a good boy. Eventually I’m finally able to catch my breath.

“Shhhh, just breathe through it. I need to pull them out now. I’ll try to do it without hurting you further if I can,” He tells me softly. Surprisingly, as he applies the pliers to his work, the pain does not increase. Carefully he sprays my aching ball sack with the disinfectant and when all the nails are pulled free, he holds it gently with a cloth to stop the bleeding. 

“Bring him down for me,” He orders the handlers at his side. As they comply, he adds for my benefit,” I’m not going far, boy, just off the stage a moment. Be good for the handlers.”

I whimper as I lose sight of him- disconnected. I don’t want anyone else to touch me. I want him so badly my chest is tight, my heart hurts and I feel frantic, untethered and in danger of becoming lost in the frightful world. The bindings are loosened and they help me to take my place at the front of the stage kneeling with my forehead resting on the cool boards. I don’t dare look up at the audience, if I do I’d be lost. I tuck my body in tightly, trying in vain to stay warm and protected.

A pair of shoes steps within my peripheral view. It isn’t John. Though they seem familiar my mind isn’t exactly functioning on all cylinders. I wait for John. He walks up to my other side. My fear subsides immediately.

“Come closer to me, boy.”

I crawl, my head still close to the floor.

“Closer…kneel up!”

I do as he orders without any thought. A quiet brain feels so peaceful. I risk a glance up at him, soaking in his control and find that I can finally just exist- be myself.

The smirk that crosses his face doesn’t elicit fear this time. He’s enjoying himself. He grabs the leash on my collar and hauls me closer until my body presses against the leather of his pants. “You’re a naughty, desperate little boy lately. Hump a leg until you cum, doggy.”

 

Seeing me eyeball the audience dubiously he adds firmly, heartlessly, “Yes, in front of our audience. I’m sure they’ll enjoy your humiliation.”

I’m sure they will too. My cock is straining to touch him. I move my hips forward and as they make contact I hiss at the wave of pleasure it send s crashing through my groin. I pump in earnest, looking up at my John. He yanks on my leash and steps back from my reach. Groaning I hump thin air a few times. Confused, I frown.

“No, bad dog. I didn’t say hump MY leg. Here, hump his,” John says as he hands my leash over to the man quietly observing us… to GREG. My heart skips about a thousand beats. I can’t do this! But Greg yanks hard on the leash and I find if I don’t obey I’m going to start choking. I whimper a complaint at John but don’t expect mercy. Resigned, I take my place in front of Greg. I notice he’s wearing rough woolen dress slacks. Of course he is…

“Start humping, boy.” John growls behind me. I can’t do this. But my cock and my lover says I must, so I do. The pleasure is rather nice and I set myself into a quick pace to end it quickly. My face is hot from the blush rising from my chest. I keep my eyes straight ahead and daydream about John.

I hear John step up behind me, his footfall distinctive from everyone else’s to my refined sense of hearing. He’s limping slightly which tells me he’s growing tired now. This will be the last part of our demonstration. Good, I’m ready to go home.

The flogger against my ass startles me as does John’s sharp reprimand that follows it. “You’re not putting on much of a show, Sherlock. Look up at Greg as you hump his leg. Remember, dear boy, you work with this man and both of you will be thinking about this session the next time you walk into his office.”

Oh Dear God, he can’t be serious! Slowly I lift my face but not my eyes. They don’t want to obey my orders. The flogger drops down hard, viciously biting at me. I just can’t obey this command. I’m about to safe word out when I hear Greg rumble above me, “Sherlock, look at me. It’s going to be ok. Obey, John.”

The punishing swats continue as I fearfully glance up at the man in front of me. He caresses my face and murmurs, “You know me. You can trust me.”

My hips move on their own as my eyes gloss over from tears, my face burning in shame. The powerful feeling of being absolutely without control overwhelms me as I cum against Greg’s leg, my eyes locked on his. I’ll never be able to look at him in the same way. I’m sure that was John’s lesson here.

The flogging stops immediately and as Greg backs away, wiping his pants with a cloth, John is at my side holding me. There is a soft applause and excited murmuring from the audience but they are not my focus anyway. John holds me and rocks me. 

“Beautiful, submissive, boy, are you mine?”

“Yes, John, absolutely yours. Are you mine?”

He snorts softly, I think from surprise that I’m able to think at all. “Yes, Sherlock. I am yours. I’m gay. for. you, remember?”

“No, remind me…”

John chuckles and kisses me firmly, commanding the kiss until it deepens with passion. I never want it to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I've really seen this performed. It was WOW....HOT!!!!!!!!


	6. Aftercare and a Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftercare, sweet fluff- no angst- Just John and Sherlock reconnecting after a hard punishment and BDSM demonstration.
> 
> #love and fluff

JOHN:

Sherlock and I snuggle together on the cab ride home despite the dark looks from the cabby. We don’t care- he needs me right now to be strong for him, loving. I don’t care what the damn world thinks anymore, if he needs me, I’m there. Period.

The cabby snatches the money from my hand as we exit at Baker Street. If I didn’t have to physically support my partner in such a weakened, vulnerable state I would have blasted that irritating asshat. As it is, I give him a well-deserved blistering glare then return my attention to Sherlock. My boy hasn’t moved a meter from the cab door as though I’m his only propulsion source at the moment. He’s yawning and stands there with his eyes half closed. A funny little smile is on his face. 

“Come on then, Sherlock, let’s get you inside.”

 

I slide my hand to the small of his back and nudge him towards the front landing. He looks at them as though he’s never seen stairs before and to my amusement, moves his hands through the air as though shuffling through his mind palace for instructions on how to climb them. He lifts a foot and nearly stumbles.

“Just let me carry you up, ok?”

He nods, looking very relieved. As he leans onto me, one long arm draped over my shoulders, he nuzzles into my hair. He remarks, casually, “Mmmm, Strawberries.”

With a chuckle, I get him up the stairs, manage to get us inside and into the warm, softly lit entryway. I wrestle around Sherlock, poking my hand into every one of his pockets in his Belstaff but can’t find his keys. 

“Keys? Remember where they are, Sherlock?”

He nods. Well, that was helpful.

“Where?” I ask, searching each pocket again.

“Pocket.”

“No. Try again, Sherlock.” My patience is wearing thin, I’m tired too.

“Pocket.”

I’m exhausted from my exertion damn it. I’m irritable. My voice takes on a sharper tone than I intend, “It’s not in any of your damn pockets, Sherlock. Did you lock us out again?”

Sherlock’s eyes widen and he takes on a tragic look, sobbing almost at once. “Why are you yelling at me? I don’t like when you yell at me!”

 

Damn it. Okay that was not my intention. I know he’s easily frightened in this state. I need to stay calm, find the keys and soothe my boy. I lower my voice, hoping he will lower his as well. All I need is Mrs. Hudson to investigate why her tenants are standing in the stairwell- one of them crying like a toddler and the other one venting steam out the ears.

I hug him close and reassure him, “Shhh, it’s ok. I just need to get you to bed is all. I’m not yelling and I’m sorry if you thought I was getting angry with you. I’m not, I’m just frustrated about not finding the key.”

He calms down finally but has the hiccups now. He points at my jacket and says, “Pocket.”

“Oh, MY pocket, thanks. I didn’t know you put it there!”

He allows me to support and guide him up the stairs. I’m getting just a bit worried now as he seems to be quite a bit weaker than earlier. A Sub typically gets stronger- more towards back to normal- not weaker after a session is over. Sherlock really needs aftercare.

I tell him as we enter the flat, “Get in bed, right now. I’ll bring you some juice and biscuits, ok?”

He doesn’t budge from the doorway. I push him forward but it’s like he has the brakes on. I’ll have to carry him then. I step in front of him, take both arms over my shoulders, and lean forward to take some of his weight. I’m sure we probably look a funny sight with his tall, lanky form draped over me like a rag doll or something. I make it to the bedroom and basically maneuver him so that he falls into the bed. I shove him over to his side and remove his shoes. I’ll undress him later.

I’m at the door when I catch a soft sound from Sherlock. I turn and ask him to repeat it.

“John?” He says a second time.

I realize he’s half asleep and groping my side of the bed which is cold and empty. Sighing, I return to his side and hand him my pillow. He squeezes it tightly to his chest and buries his nose into it as well. Sniffing, he murmurs softly, “Mmmmm, strawberries.”

Smiling, I make a mental note to buy more of that shampoo. As he seems satisfied to be holding onto my pillow, I head into the kitchen. Not knowing what he’ll actually consume on any given day I toss together whatever I can find. At the last minute, I decide to make him coffee and heat some bland soup. I juggle the items on a tray and rejoin him in our bedroom.

He’s awake but barely. His eyes are a soft grey-blue in this light and he seems calmer, not as lost. He turns his head to glance at me, still clutching my pillow to his chest. “Hi,” he says softly. “When did you get home?”

Ok, still somewhat lost then. I chuckle and answer him, “I just brought you home.”

I set the tray on the bed and sit next to him. Like a baby bird he opens his mouth when I hand him a chocolate biscuit. I pop it in his mouth. He chews it silently, never taking his eyes off of me. 

“You’ll feel better in a few minutes, Ok?”

 

Nodding he continues to chew. I slide over as close to him as I can making sure I’m making contact as best I can. He needs grounding. That’s just part of this relationship; my part of it. I snuggle against him, one hand idly tracing the blood vessels of his hand. He sighs and relaxes at my touch.

“Here, sit up, baby. Don’t try to drink that laying down. I’m afraid you’ll drown.” I scold him lightly as he tries to simply lift his head to drink from the coffee mug. I assist him to sit up, fluffing up both pillows to support him. In the process some of the coffee spills onto his sheet and clothing. He looks anxiously at me for my reaction. “It’s fine. I’m going to get you cleaned up in a few minutes anyway. There’s a fresh sheet in the closet.”

“I’m sorry I’m so helpless,” he says sadly.

 

“Come on now, you are fine. Come out of this stupor, ok? Focus on eating and drinking some juice or coffee. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Thank you, John.”

I kiss him lightly on the head and as he sips at his soup I get up to fetch a warm cloth. I need to get him cleaned up and resting properly as soon as I can. Not only does he need it, so do I. I’m about to fall asleep as I walk around the bedroom getting a clean sheet. Entering the bathroom with the intent on wetting down a washcloth for him I pause to wash my own face in hot water. It helps to strengthen and refocus me. A caretaker cannot care from someone else properly if they are also exhausted and needing support. When I return Sherlock has actually finished the soup and is working on a piece of toast with jam. He seems closer to his normal self which helps to calm me. With one finger he tastes the red jam and makes a face I’m quite accustomed to.  
“I know it is not the brand we usually get. It was on sale.” I tell him. “I’d like you to eat it anyway, please.

Dramatic sigh and eye roll.

Yep, he’s ok. I sit and hug him as I watch him as he nibbles off the corners untouched by jam. The world views Sherlock Holmes as an aloof, annoying savant that can read clues and solve crimes- all without a heart or care in this world. It’s not true. He has the simple heart of a child that he protects fiercely or simply tries to ignore its very existence. I absolutely adore when he lets me see it… if he isn’t driving me crazy at the same time. “Stop avoiding the jam, a little sugar right now would be good for you.”

Holding his nose, he crams the rest in his mouth. He’s letting me win this time but on his terms. I shake my head lightly at my silly boy.

“Now that you are finished eating, let’s wash your face and get you undressed. I’d like to look you over, maybe give you a nice massage and definitely treat sore spots.”

I help him wiggle out of his clothes and tuck most of his limbs and body under the clean sheet. I toss his clothes to the floor and earn a surprised look from Sherlock. I shrug and lift the sheet so that I can view his feet and legs. There is an immediate twitch in his groin as I look at him. It’s his turn to shrug as he washes his face. Rubbing at his ankles and lower legs I don’t find anything to worry about. The leather cuffs are wide and have caused no chafing as he’s pulled against them. He moans softly and continues to harden as I investigate his cock and balls. There are five tiny blood specks on his sack that look like they will heal quickly.

 

“Sore still?” I ask as I caress his ball sack with a finger. He wiggles a bit at the pressure.

“No, not really sore… just sensitive a bit,” He answers. He lays his head back as I cover his lower body and pull the sheet down to look at his belly and chest. I rub across his nipples eliciting a soft groan from him. There’s now a proper tent under the sheet. Only a few places that received too much attention from the flogger are still red. Even though he’s quite pale, his body heals up marks remarkably quickly.

“No bruises anywhere in front. Flip over.” I order. He gives me a look that tells me his tolerance for this is quickly being reached and that if I don’t end it soon he’ll go from compliant to temper tantrum throwing toddler very quickly. “Almost done, Sherlock, then we can cuddle and sleep.”

Deeply put-upon, he slides down into the bed and turns over slowly. He lifts his bum and reaches underneath to settle his hardened cock in a better position. Once he seems ready I run my hand over his thighs, ass and back. There are a few marks but nothing serious. He relaxes under my touch so I press on his shoulders a bit harder and he moans. With full pressure now, I squeeze and push at sore tense muscles. The sounds he starts to make could easily be mistaken by anybody not observing us as those uttered during orgasm.

“Feels good.”

I nod, “It sounds like it.”

“Don’t stop.”

Grinning, I slap his rump lightly. “You are ordering ME, boy?”

He mumbles into his pillow, ignoring my jest, “Yes. Don’t stop.”

I continue with the shoulder massage a few more minutes but notice he’s subtly rubbing his groin into the bed. Poor boy. Pain and exhaustion can make your body do strange things, include ramping up and confusing all of it for pleasure.

“I have an idea you might like better,” I say, deciding not to scold or punish him for the act of self-pleasuring.

He turns his head to look at me intensely. His eyebrow rises. “Really? What could that be?”

>I’m too tired at this point to explain. Besides some things just need to happen. I slide a hand under his hip and encourage him to flip over onto his back again. I strip off my own clothes and quickly slide under the sheet pressed against him.

“This isn’t better,” He tells me. He quickly adds, “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong but that massage felt way better than a cuddle.”

“Shut up, Sherlock, I’m not coming to bed for a cuddle.”

I guide one of his hands to my hardening cock as I take ahold of his and begin to stroke. Very quickly he gets the idea and gently starts to stroke me in return.

“Oh, yes, I guess this is better.” He says, grinning. He snuggles in close and stares into my eyes. “Thank you, John. For everything you did today.”

 

"Yes, fine. You're welcome. Don't stop." I tell him.

He barks a laugh and continues caressing me. I mirror his actions and soon we're both flying high on pleasure, too focused to even talk.

*********************

 

The next morning I trudge into the kitchen and find that Sherlock is already sitting at the table, naked save for his sheet loosely bound around his waist. He is concentrating, head down, on fishing the tape worm out of the jar with one of our forks. I swear to myself to throw all the flatware away later and buy new stuff. I wonder if Sherlock ever notices we constantly have new cups and plates. Before I manage to hurl I look away and greet him from the periphery of my vision as I locate some fresh milk, “Morning. How do you feel?”

“Hmmmm?”

“How do you feel?” I ask again, very slowly as I might to a young child.

He shrugs and continues the struggle with the worm which seems to be eluding him. He snatches up chopsticks and as he scoops out the slippery creature I add new chopsticks to my mental shopping list. “I wish you wouldn’t do that at the kitchen table with our eating utensils.”

He glances up at me, a look of concern crossing his face. He inquires, “Is that a new rule?”

“If it has to be,” I reply. “Are you sore anywhere?”

“Not really,” he answers as he lays out the worm onto a dinner plate. This shopping list is getting expensive.

He reaches for a clean mug from the counter and I snatch it away from him. “Didn’t Mycroft just buy you proper tools for your experiments?”

“Yes, but you threw it all out with the mold and blood experiments remember?  
”  
Envisioning the horrid mess I had donned gloves to gather up, I nod, remembering the stench quite well. “I think that would make an excellent rule then, number twelve…”

“It would be the thirteenth actually. Rule twelve states that I am not allowed to go to any public place in a state of undress. Did you know though that in Namibia a sheet is commonly used by elders…”

I cut him off with a raised hand and firm tone, “A sheet, in England, is not an article of clothing. The rule stays. So rule thirteen is do not do experiments at the kitchen table with our eating utensils.”

 

Sherlock is in a good mood this morning apparently as he looks up with his mischievous tiny half-smile forming. He says, “That leaves at least two loop holes, John. First, I could still obey the rule by taking the eating utensils and experiments into the sitting area away from the kitchen or second I can still do the experiments at the table but not use our eating utensils.”

I close my eyes and lean heavily onto the table. Taking a deep breath I recite, “Rule 13, do NOT use the kitchen table, counter space, refrigerator or microwave for your experiments. Do not use eating utensils, plates, cups, glasses or cookware for them either. AND rule 14: Stop looking for loopholes in all the rules!”

He heaves a heavy “poor me” sigh but seems to agree with a simple inclination of his head.

“Tidy up your experiment and let’s fix some breakfast.”

Not surprisingly he remarks with, “I’m not hungry”. He makes no move to clean up.

Count to forty, I remind myself. Don’t kill him. Pick your battles…ARGGH. Who am I kidding? “Sherlock, TIDY up at once and tell me what you’d like to eat for breakfast!”

“Or?” Sherlock inquires almost innocently. “It sounded like there might be an option about to be added.”

I have a headache already. “The ‘OR’ in this case is simply this… you choose. I can make breakfast for us and we can eat it together at a clean table or I take my breakfast and tea to the sitting room. You can make your own breakfast when and if you want.”

“I get to choose?” He asks, feigning innocence and surprise at the implication of being able to decide for himself.

“Sarcasm will get you corner time,” I reply to his snarky comment. “What’s your choice?”

He looks at me carefully, deducing. “You won’t be angry if I stay here and work?”

“I won’t be angry, Sherlock.”

“And I can eat what I want?” 

I sigh, “Within reason, chocolate biscuits are not going to do for breakfast. Your transport needs some proper fuel.”

“Hmmm, what are you going to fix?”

“Eggs on toast, maybe some orange slices on the side."

He thinks this over another few minutes, calculating it all out. I can see the hamster running on the little wheel in his head. Growing impatient I press him, “Your decision?”

“We have that meeting with Longbow this afternoon about Edward's son's case.”

“Yes, Sherlock. It will be a long day. Your decision?”

 

A frowny face. “Let me think.”

I try hard not to drum my fingers on the table. How can it be so difficult for him to make such a simple decision? I suppose he’s weighing all the pros and cons at least twice because he doesn’t like the way it weighed out the first time. “Well?”

"I want mine hard scrambled this time. It was way too soft for my refined sense of texture last time,” he answers as he uses his fingers to drop the worm back into its jar.

“I have a mind to make YOU cook breakfast, BOY.”

He gives me a sideways grin and remarks, “Just seeing if you were still in Dom mode. I see the answer is yes.”

Oh REALLY???? He squeaks and then laughs as I chase him around the kitchen with a spatula.

 

****************

Later that afternoon upon our arrival to the Yard we are greeted by a young officer. He looks nervous addressing Sherlock. He has a tiny slip of paper in his fingers and he’s twiddling with its edges.

“Detective Longbow has left a message for you, Mr. Holmes. There’s been some movement in the case today apparently and he’d like you to meet at one of the old crime scenes.” The young man tells us. Sherlock seems annoyed by not being messaged directly but lets it pass, thankfully.

He accepts the slip of paper with the address, glances at it briefly, and slipping it into his pocket, turns to me, saying, “It’s not far. Let’s get over there with all expediency.”

Sherlock moves with real urgency and sense of purpose towards the door. As he quickly swings the door open he collides with a person coming in. The man’s carefully held coffee cup jostles and coffee spills onto his white shirt and tie. It’s, unfortunately, Greg Lestrade.

Sherlock’s face turns from mild annoyance to one of classic anxiety. A deep flush crosses his face as he takes a step away from Greg. He looks to me for guidance.

“Oh, sorry, Greg,” I tell the detective for Sherlock. “We were here to see Detective Longbow but he’s called us out to a crime scene.”

Greg stares at Sherlock another moment before he says to him so quietly I almost don’t hear him. “We’re ok, right?”

Sherlock, for a brief moment lets down his shields; he returns Greg’s look and nods. He shifts on his feet almost bouncing on his toes- his body wanting to still leap into action but his mind is actually holding him back so that he can communicate with our friend. “Yes, Greg. We’re fine. Better, actually.”

Greg pats him on the shoulder (which, astonishingly, Sherlock allows without snarling), turns to me with a smile and a wink and walks quietly to his office not saying another word. Sherlock tilts his head my direction, observing and deducing no doubt. If he intends to say something about Greg the moment soon passes and the impatient consulting detective is back.

 

“Shall we press on, John?”

 

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, glad Sherlock and Greg are getting along.


	7. At the End of His Tether

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock endangers his life once again and John reaches the end of his tether. He needs to think about how to get Sherlock back on track.
> 
> This one is long and full of angst. I'm so sorry. Please heed the tags for this chapter!
> 
> Angst and breath control!
> 
> But yes, there's some nice memories buried in there too.

John:

I'm only half interested in the conversation Sherlock is having with Detective Longbow. As long as Sherlock is not berating him, I'm not too concerned. Right now, he is calm, focused and intrigued by a mystery. How did a murderer enter and leave a twelfth floor flat without being seen at least by the doorman?

"How did he or she enter this flat, Detective, if it wasn't through the door?" Sherlock stalks over to the door in question and investigates the lock as I'm sure the police have already done. Sometimes though he does observe things they have not.

The Detective watches him with a smirk plastered on his face. He really doesn't like Sherlock. It's a mutual feeling. He smugly replies. "Our techs have finger printed the door and checked the lock. She may have let the perpetrator in, although the doorman said he is certain that Mrs. Field did not have a visitor that evening."

Sherlock frowns and moves to the hallway looking back at the stairs. "He is perhaps mistaken. Or you are."

I glance up from my position looking over crime scene photos to give him a warning glare. He isn't looking my direction, perhaps on purpose.

"It's possible the doorman is mistaken but there's no way to know. There are no security cameras in this building." Longbow admits while sensibly ignoring Sherlock's mild taunt.

As I had predicted, Sherlock considers other- albeit less likely- entry points. "He didn't enter through a window?"

"No fire escape from these windows and none of them can be opened anyway, painted over".

Sherlock checks the nearest window himself. I have my eyes glued on him in case he decides to investigate a ledge or something. Thankfully the window is indeed painted over. I relax and return to the photos but keep an ear peeled for trouble. "Any way in at all other than windows?"

"There's a small balcony for tenants to hang laundry but no way onto or off of it from the twelfth."

"Interesting. I'll have a look at the other windows, Detective."

"It's a waste of time," I hear the detective answer.

A few minutes later I tear away from the last photo with something interesting to show Sherlock and he's simply not there. It's not like this is a terribly large flat. He's not anywhere. My blood pressure shoots up immediately. Detective Longbow is useless, suggests Sherlock went to the loo perhaps. What an idiot.

"Where was he seen last?" I ask the annoying young detective who stands there distractedly picking dust bunnies off his trousers as though this might not be a matter of life or death.

 

"I mentioned to him that we still do not know how the perp got into the flat and he wandered off looking at all the windows." Longbow grumbles with a shrug. "Not like the killer climbed in through a window on the twelfth floor."

Oh, Bloody hell! Not again! "Anything is possible, Detective."

I'm just hoping against hope that Sherlock is still inside the building, not crawling somewhere on a ledge outside of it. Knowing my boy though... if he doesn't die I may kill him. I hurry to the bedroom window and find it's also painted over. I'm pretty sure there are no more windows in this flat. Unless- my heart pounds- there's one in the kitchen.

In the kitchen there is a tiny window and a door. This could possibly be an entry point but obviously there is still that one problem- twelfth floor. I walk onto the patio. Sherlock's coat and scarf are laid neatly over the laundry line. I have a gut wrenching twist as I realize what he's done. I grab a nearby flower pot, flip it over and climb on top. Leaning over the railing, grasping the side wall I can see a ridiculously narrow ledge no one in their right mind would climb onto. I'm not sure Sherlock's mind qualifies as being right. I can't see him though.

I'll need help to make certain of what I suspect. Re-entering the sitting room I call out, "Detective Longbow, could you call down to one of the uniforms and see if they see Sherlock somewhere on the outside of the building, East side of it?"

The detective brushes back his sandy hair, his green eyes growing large, "Did you say OUTSIDE of it, Dr. Watson?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It's urgent."

Within a few moments I have my answer. Sherlock is clinging to a ledge and seems to be slowly making his way back to the balcony. As evidence, a uniformed officer has kindly sent a picture to my phone. When I open it I die another few hundred deaths. I don't understand how he is able to move along so smoothly with so few hand holds.

I can hear him now, shuffling towards me. He'll have to step over a broken portion and this is where I'm going to have a panic attack. I see him in my mind, stepping cautiously over the cracked and grumbling section, miscalculating and falling to his death. His brother is not here to save him this time with a trick. I have to push this last image out of my head but I know it will be there forever.

Sherlock is closer now and though I can see him, he's concentrating on each tiny side step as he moves so that he doesn't even notice me waiting for him. I'm planning a thousand painful deaths for my boy- when I watch in slow motion as he missteps and starts to slip. I'm not sure how, with my stature, I manage to leap up onto the ledge but I find myself next to Sherlock within moments. I steady him and myself. Shouting a bit louder than is probably necessary I order, "Take this hand hold and be careful, there's a broken spot just there."

"I can manage, John."

"Right now, I don't want to discuss this. Just get back inside."

 

I move forward towards the door. It's a hell of a long way down. With my luck there's probably a news team down there already and people placing bets on whether one or both of us idiots would fall to our deaths. I sense though that Sherlock isn't right behind me.

"Come on," I tell him.

"John, I'm stuck on a nail or something."

Oh Bloody Hell. I scooch back to him and look him over carefully. His sleeve has indeed caught on a nail. "Pull it loose. That shirt is a lost cause anyway as filthy as you've gotten."

I hear a muffled grumble then a tearing sound. Satisfied he will follow me now I make my way over to the balcony and clamber onto it with Detective Longbow's assistance. Sherlock is not far behind. As he steps onto the balcony, he has a smirk in place. He hands over a small piece of fabric to Longbow. "The perpetrator also caught a piece of clothing on the nail. Wool, I believe."

"How did he get onto the ledge in the first place though?"

Sherlock points towards a far corner of the building. "Around the corner there is a water pipe and a fire escape one floor down."

"That would be almost impossible!"

Sherlock sighs dramatically, swirling his coat on and fastening it. "Almost. We've seen the impossible accomplished more than a few times."

" I can show you if you wish," Sherlock offers. I grasp his arm and shake my head. He isn't going back out there.

"We'll check out the fire escape." Longbow thankfully answers.

"And I'll review the photos and case notes, Detective." With a flourish Sherlock is out the door with me trailing only a few steps. It's a normal routine for him to lose interest quickly and move on to the next thing. The next thing, for me, is to decide how I want to handle this. He doesn't seem to notice my anger and dismay.

However, once we are safely ensconced in a cab and headed back to Baker Street he seems quiet, almost introspective. I'd expect him to be glowing about finding the entry point for our murderer. Instead he's looking down at his hands, thinking. Finally he says, calmly, "You are, of course, angry that I took such a risk, John."

I can't believe his nerve. "We'll discuss this at home."

"It's not necessary, John, I understand your concerns I assure..."

"Not in the cab, please."

"I think if you would consider..."

"NO," I bark. The cabbie glances back at me, concern written all over his face. I wave him off. I continue a little more calmly, "I will not talk to you about this in a cab. We will discuss this at home."

Sherlock is thankfully silent the rest of the way to Baker Street. I take full advantage of relative peace to consider what I must do now. Sherlock will not follow rules or cannot, I'm not certain which is true anymore. Considering he had asked for them in the first place and the consequences, I am truly nonplussed. He disregards the rules so often it's as though he likes to be punished. Surely that's not the case. If it is though, I'm in big trouble here.

I need a longer time to consider this than just a single journey in a cab. We arrive at Baker Street far too soon. I tell him firmly to meet me in my old room and he seems concerned right away.

"For what purpose?" He questions irritably.

I'm certain he reads my intentions in the dark look I send him as I pay the cabbie. Sherlock flees inside without another word.

I need time to think and I plan to get plenty of it. I storm up the stairs two at a time. Sherlock is waiting quietly for me outside the bedroom door. He doesn't even look me in the eye as I manage to find the key I haven't used in ages and let us in.

Inside the room, I turn towards him and point at the section of wall where, a few years prior, we had installed two bolts for pure fun in our first explorations into BDSM. We haven't used them in quite a while. The rope was still coiled in a chair as were my emergency scissors to cut him loose should I need to. Very convenient actually. "Get over there, NOW."

He takes his place reluctantly. After all these years I can read him like a book. He is treading in unknown waters and doesn't feel comfortable with it. He wants the usual reactions from me and the punishments he has become accustomed to. I'm not giving in to him. This needs to go down differently. I need him to hear me, think of me for once, not himself.

Lifting up the rope I secure one wrist at a time without saying a word to him. He tests the hold by pulling but his arms will not move from their spread out position. He's going to be standing here until I release him.

Looking around quickly, I spot the blindfold in the wardrobe. "Close your eyes," I demand as I approach him. He turns his head in a refusal, squinting at me suspiciously. I almost never blind fold him when we play or when I punish him. He has a tendency to panic when he can't see and deduce. I can wait him out. I hold it in front of his face, allowing its cool silken ends to touch his cheek.

"Don't blindfold me," He says as though he gets to decide. I wait, unmoving. My eyes are locked on his. "Please, John."

I tap him gently on his cheek with the hand holding the blindfold. It's simply a wordless reminder of my last command. I'm not repeating myself today.  
With a soft grumble, his eyes close but his hands form fists as he struggles internally with his sudden helplessness. I slip the blindfold over his head and tie it securely. He can't rub it off nor shake it loose.

Blindfolded, he will not be able to judge or misread my intentions. He'll be able to listen to me without distractions such as visual evidence and clues swirling around his head. Moving in close I press into him. This startles him into a gasp. I take advantage of his open mouth by placing a long hard kiss to his lips, allowing my tongue to press in and control his. He shivers in surprise and longing.

 

I stay close as I whisper to him, "I love you. That will never change. I want you to know that, because, Sherlock, what I'm going to say later will likely be the most painful thing you've heard in a long time. But before I say it. I LOVE YOU and I'm not leaving."

Swallowing nervously, he whimpers as I take a step away from him. Taking up the scissors I begin to cut away his clothes. As I do so I tell him, "I expect you to be silent and listen."

An almost imperceptible nod lets me know he's heard me. I continue to snip his clothing away piece by piece. I work silently until he's completely naked. I run my hand possessively over his body eliciting deep shudders. His cock lengthens without me even touching it and bobs for my attention. With a not too gentle swat to it, he bucks his hips towards me with a gasp of pleasure.

Watching him squirm, a realization clicks into place like a final puzzle piece. "I'm your new addiction. I'm an idiot for not seeing it before."

>I know from his inhalation that he's about to blast me with a retort and I slap his belly hard with my palm. "You WILL stay quiet, Sherlock or I will walk away from you for a full hour each time you interrupt me by talking. You are the one that came to ME about the contract, the rules, and suggestions for consequences." I start to lecture.

He interjects sullenly, "We discussed the rules and consequences together."

"You can't even follow the simplest order. I'm not leaving the room but I am going to sit over on the chair for the hour you've just earned."

There is rage and hurt in his voice, "No, John, wait! Give me another chance."

I ignore his peas and take a seat nearby. I pick up an old magazine to read. It's going to be a long evening.

I glance over at him when, ten minutes into his hour of timeout, he whimpers, "Red."

I inquire without moving, already knowing his answer, "Emergency?"

"No, but..."

"You have fifty minutes left, stay quiet," I order.

He launches into a string of curse words that any pirate would envy. I look at my watch, forty nine minutes left.

 

Seeing him so firmly tied makes me reminisce about our first session together in this very room. One that nearly didn't happen because - of all things- a missing umbrella.

OOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooOOO

I remember that night:

 

Sherlock and I had been 'dating' for about a year. We were flat mates so dating seemed like a ridiculous word for it. I mean we LIVED together already so how could we be dating? Sherlock suggested then that we call it 'courting' but I simply refused.

In Sherlock's view courting entailed that we go out together for meals to nice restaurants, spend copious amounts of money on gifts for each other and be seen about in public places as a couple. It was old fashioned and I'm pretty certain, lacking actual courting experience, he had simply read about it in some old book. My opinion however was that dating didn't have to be expensive and it didn't involve having to convince others we were in a relationship. I was happiest when we stayed at home and sat on the sofa together, holding hands, bodies pressed together and drinking beer as we watched TV.

We had kissed, cuddled and heavy petted but we both seemed to be a little shy to discuss anything further. It took me by complete surprise then one morning when Sherlock approached me with a piece of rope in his hand.

"Will you tie me, John?"

"Excuse me?" I asked. I’m certain my eyebrows had lifted so much that they were no longer on my head.

"I have the appropriate rope," He said as he indicated the evidence for me to see.

"I see you have rope," I said dryly. I'm not blind for God's sake. I added, "May I ask why you need to be tied? Experiment for a case?"

"No, I just feel as we have been courting for nearly a year that it's appropriate to move forward, add a sexual element to our relationship."

I smirked at him. I had just mentioned the very same thing to him the night before but of course at the time he had shied away- when it wasn't his idea. "I see. I still don't know what that has to do with the rope."

Exasperated he huffed out, "Tie me."

"Sherlock, I'm not being deliberately obtuse, I honestly don't see the connection between tying you and sex."

"You are an idiot," He growled and stormed off. I counted to one hundred then followed him into the kitchen. The rope was on the table and Sherlock had his head in the freezer.

"Please explain this," I told him. He pulled his head out of the freezer just to glare my direction. "Never mind then," I said, not wanting an argument or rebuff I returned to the sitting room.

Behind me I heard him answer so softly I questioned if he actually said it or I had imagined it. "I like to be tied. May we try that, John?"

I halted next to my chair, considering. Tied? Well this is news to me. I said, without turning, afraid I'd scare him off again, "You like to be tied?"

 

A soft grumbling sigh right behind me answered, "Yes, amongst other things. But we can start with tying, I suppose."

He laid a very cold hand on my cheek and the other on my hip from behind. I shivered at his touch. As he pulled me into his embrace I said quietly, "We can try it, I suppose. Although I'm not sure I know what to do once I get the rope on you."

He snickered, "You are bright, John, you'll think of something. Come with me to your old room I want to show you something."

That's when I was first introduced to the eye bolts he had planted securely in the bedroom wall. I looked at him surprise. "When did you do this?" I asked.

"When you were in the shower." He announced proudly, almost smug that he'd carried it out under my nose. "I procured the rope a while ago."

"I see," I said examining the bolts. He watched me intently; I could feel his eyes boring into my back and his thoughts crashed hard against me too. This is what you call a pregnant pause, I thought. He's waiting to see how I react and he's hoping for a certain outcome. "So I tie you to this wall, then what?"

He exhaled his held breath loudly, relaxing. He said casually as though discussing the weather, "I suppose it's up to you then what you decide to do. Let your imagination run free. What do you WANT to do to me, John?"

"Hmmm," I muttered, considering the options. A few sinister ideas came to mind; covering him in jam perhaps and licking it off and maybe letting him be found by ants afterwards.

I assumed I had a nasty grin on my face because Sherlock smiled at me seductively and handed me the rope. "Looks like you have ideas! Let's get started."

I'm a doctor and a writer. That means I have a primary concern for safety and a vivid imagination about all the things that can go wrong. I told him, "If there is an emergency how do I get you out of all that rope?"

He pointed at my empty wardrobe where he kept a few items like his riding crop...oh another idea popped into my head. I opened it and found a pair of Paramedic scissors meant for cutting away clothing very quickly. "We can add a safe word if you want. One that means to stop all action immediately and release me."

I'd heard of that before, a safe word. I told him solemnly, "I expect you to use it is you must and to refrain from using it just because you are bored or something mundane. What will your safe word be?"

"Red would be appropriate, I think."

I nodded and ordered him, "Strip and get up against the wall then. Hurry up, snap to."

Sherlock jerked in surprise at coming face to face with my old soldier self but quickly complied. Each article of clothing was neatly placed on the bare bed and as soon as he was in place he stretched his arms outwards towards the two eye bolts.

 

"This would be a lot safer with leather cuffs," I remarked as I looped the rough rope around his wrists and tied him securely. "Less chance of chafing."  
Smirking, he replied, "We can start purchasing anything you want to carry this out."

I barked a laugh at his smugness and assured him, "Yes, we will. Now shut the Hell up and let me think. It's quite something to be offered a young man's body in submission."

I decided I'll just explore his body in the ways I've always wanted. I drug my hand across his belly, allowing my finger nails to scratch lightly over it. His intake of breath was delicious to hear. He's so thin it worried me though. I frowned, tracing each rib but then he started to giggle and I let go of my medical thinking. "Ticklish, hm?" I threatened him lightly with wiggling fingers as I sought out choice spots to test out. He squealed and twisted away from me.

 

"Oh does my poor boy want to get away?" I teased, watching him struggle in the ropes. I felt so powerful. The heat drove a spike right to my groin.

Shaking his head wildly he choked out, "God, I love hearing you call me that! Sexy as Hell. Please say it again."

Ah, he can be so sweet when he wants to be, I thought fondly. I stretched onto my tiptoes to whisper directly into his ear, "I love your sexy body, boy."

He tried to kiss me but I backed off quickly, THIS would be mine. Something I could give him, certainly, but it was going to be mine to control.

He whined, "Please, John." I knew I had him.

I licked my lips as I thought of another way to torture him. If I had enjoyed the sounds he had made when I simply touched him then surely licking would be even better. I was correct. The moment I started to run my tongue across his chest from one perked up pink nipple to the other his body was responding beautifully. As his skin glided smoothly under my tongue, he groaned and thrust his hardness at me. He shivered as I continued to lay down stripe after stripe. His scent and taste invaded me to my very core. I wanted suddenly to know what his cock felt and tasted like in my mouth. I knelt at once and took him in. He howled at the sudden heated wetness engulfing him with so much pressure. He nearly came right then and there - would have if I had continued. I quickly released him with a slurp as he popped free. He cried out in dismay.

"I want you to last," I explained to his pleading eyes.

"Dear God, John, please have mercy!"

I snorted, just a tiny touch of CPT Watson sneaking into my tone. "You don't deserve mercy, do you, boy?"

He smiled beautifully at me for this, "Then punish me, John. Show me what you'll do to me if I misbehave."

 

The riding crop came to mind and I fetched it. He nodded approvingly. He said, watching me take practice swings that swished through the air, "I knew you had this in you. You're a natural dominant.”

I thwacked his nipple lightly in reply. When he sucked in his breath at the sting, I felt myself harden further. I really enjoyed his show as I found new places to caress and whack with the riding crop. He jumped and tugged uselessly at the ropes, hissing and gasping as I explored my new toys- his body and his riding crop. I saved his thrusting cock for last. He saw me eyeballing it hungry and he fought to still himself long enough for me to aim properly. He cried out when I rapped it lightly instead of swinging it down as hard as I had on the rest of his body. I barely tapped him and wiggled it with the broad tip on the crop. "Three harder ones, ok? Right here on your cock head. Thank me for them?"

Thwak.

Poor baby, he gasped and forgot to thank me. Sneering I decided to be heartless. "You failed to thank me, boy. I'll start over for you."

Thwak.

"Oh my God, ow, ONE."

I was grinning evilly by this point. Sherlock was so rarely confused and lacking control that this was actually fun to make him that way. I pretended to be upset and snarled, "I said thank me, not count, you idiot. I'll start again!"

Thwak.

He practically shouted, "Thank you, John."

My temperature was definitely rising. I rubbed myself through my pants. His gray eyes grew large as he observed me.

Thwak.

"Ah, thank you, John."

By the fifth one he was trying to cross one leg protectively over his poor reddened cock. Oh, this was bad boy behavior, I decided. I brought the riding crop down hard on the offending leg across the thigh. "Stop that, leg down. Open up those legs for me. I'm giving you one more as punishment for interfering with my entertainment."

His eyes even larger, he said in near disbelief, "I think I created a monster." He brought his leg down and locked his knees. His eyes closed as he waited.

Thwak!

This time his cock really bounced and he cried out sharply. Dropping the riding crop, I dove in for a kiss to soften his sounds. He moaned into my mouth and I nearly came.

I was about to continue when there was an abrupt pounding at the front door. Sherlock and I froze. Mrs. Hudson was away at a retreat with friends so there was no one to send the visitor away.

 

"Someone's at the door," Sherlock said, rising panic in his voice. He struggled with the ropes.

 

"Obviously," I said, growing irritated watching him struggle and rubbing his wrists raw. "Stop that!"

I considered untying him or cutting him free but it would take too long. I bolted for the front door as quickly as I could without killing myself. Thankfully I remembered to shut my own bedroom door before I opened the other one. It was Mycroft. He looked annoyed but honestly, he always does when he's dealing with Sherlock. Thankfully he also gets into a frame of mind where he can't think of anything else, like observing a distinct bulge in my pants or the sweat dripping down my face.

"John, where is my brother?"

"Hello, Mycroft. He's tied up at the moment," I managed to keep a straight face as I spoke. “Maybe I can help you or would you like to leave a message?"

He hmphed and frowned. He's a drama queen like his brother. "I'll wait for him! He's taken my favorite umbrella again! This childish behavior must stop!"

He tried pushing his way in but I body checked him. He glared, I returned it right back. "Small dog, big attitude," He grumbled under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing at all, please tell my brother to return my umbrella at once!"

"Certainly, I'll even beat him into submission for you," I said with a smirk. God, I'm a riot today, I thought.

"Not necessary, though it might help in the long term."

After he left I trotted back to my room and found Sherlock frantically trying to break free. I swatted his hip with the palm of my hand and scolded, "Stop that. He's gone."

"Now where were we?" I asked.

Now that his brother was gone, the old sarcastic Sherlock snuck in. "Hmmm, I think you were going to let me cum."

"Oh I was, was I? I think I was going to tease you some more. Maybe leave you hard."

"Pretty sure I like my idea better..."

"Nope," I scolded as I knelt down in front of him, licking my lips hungrily right in front of his dripping manhood. "Pretty sure you asked for more pain.”

I bit a little at the ridge of his cock and enjoyed his cry of pain as he twisted beneath me. I licked its length, the skin smooth as silk and moving slightly with my tongue. I kissed at the small red spots I'd left and murmured at him lovingly. I really could study his body all night. "I could get used to this." I said.

 

He began to plead in earnest. I decided to have mercy on him after all. I lapped at the precum, enjoying my first real taste of it.

"Ready to cum now?" I teased. When he thrust at me again, I caught him in my mouth and ran my tongue under his glans. He came unhinged, howling in pleasure. He was so close after a few moments, that I relented and allowed him to shift in and out at his own speed. He grunted as he spurted into my waiting mouth.

I sat back on my heels and ogled the gorgeous body in front of me. I wanted him so badly then that my cock ached. "I'm going to take you to bed now and fuck your brains out."

He grinned at me lopsidedly. He was tired but willing.

I untied his arms and he collapsed into mine, moaning softly. "That was incredible, John. Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too, you amazing man," I told him. "If you want pain, I suppose I can give that to you."

"I need it, John."

His word choice that day had gone by unnoticed then but it makes sense now. He was correct, he NEEDS this pain.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOO

>From that memory I realize deeply, profoundly, I still love Sherlock no matter what he does or says. I know now what I need to do. I know how to preserve this if he'll follow my lead as he has promised to do a thousand times before. He won't like it but maybe that's the damn point.  
The one hour is finally over and Sherlock is actually silent. His body twitches at my sudden touch.

"Just nod if you'll listen to me now," I say, waiting.

A nod from my captive audience. Good. I launch into it, "You are using me, Sherlock, for this addiction. You need something to help you escape your own damn brain, the thinking, the noise. You used to use cocaine to escape it, to float free from it, to alieve your boredom and loneliness. You don't want to feel emotional pain so you actually use intense physical pain to cover it up. Shh, stop fretting. I understand completely. I use danger to alieve my own boredom remember? I do understand about addictions. To meet your need you defy me every chance you get to be in trouble, to be punished. You said it yourself, Sherlock, you need pain. I'm the method you've chosen to achieve this end."

I press into him again, slowly stroking him and kissing his neck and jawline softly, "The problem with this method is that you're pushing me away. Making me angry, hurting me, and hurting us."

He's moaning as I touch and tease his nipples. He's wiggling like a puppy being petted. "I love you so much, Sherlock. I want to show you what you are slowly destroying."

 

I kneel at his side, dragging my tongue down his body as I go. He's keening like an animal and trying to calm himself by breathing through his nose. It won't work for long. I'm going to make sure of that.

I lick and nip at his hip bone. In medical terms it's his Iliac Crest I'm employing my mouth against but it doesn't matter what it's called. It's the effect of having this area caressed by a hot, wet tongue that matters. He sounds like he's being tortured. I'm only a hand span from his straining cock and he thrusts his hips trying to get me to turn my head. I choose to ignore him. I lick my way downwards to his inner thigh then slowly back up. I have no intention of bringing relief just yet. I take a few laps at his ball sack then stand, grasping them firmly but not hard enough to hurt. I must bring him no pain whatsoever. I also must make sure he understands he's still under my control, in trouble and with punishment pending.

I suck and nibble at his nipples, never releasing his balls. His breathing is erratic. He no longer has control over it. Perfect. I say again, "I love you. I love this. I love the sounds you make."

I grasp the back of his head and haul him forward. He eagerly returns my kiss, panting. Our tongues tangle as I continue to tease him into complete oblivion. Biting at his lower lip as I pull away again, I tell my boy firmly, hopefully leaving no doubt that I mean what I say this time, "I don't want to lose this or lose you to some stupid action you take. It would destroy me, Sherlock. Utterly and completely. If I lose you again, I'd die this time. Even if I lose you just because you finally succeed in pushing me away, I'd be heart broken."

I cover his mouth as he starts to speak. I know I have control over his breathing too as his nostrils are also blocked. I lay one hand on his chest feeling his heart start to race as his desire for air becomes more intense by each passing second. I usually relent quickly. This time I'm making a point. "I'd rather control how I lose you than to lose you to some random, stupid, rash decision you make or to some hideous criminal with no remorse. At least I'd know you died by my own hands, with love in the intention."

He's reached that point I normally release him. He knows it. I feel the struggle inside him to stay calm. I'm certain his lungs are screaming at him, burning. He tries to pull away. I won't let him, not yet. "As you pass out, you think about why I'm doing this."

His body thrashes now in panic. I want to say I'm sorry. To release him sooner but I can't. He must suffer what I fear the most for him. He must accept he may die if I want that to happen. He knows though, that it's not what I want at all. That's my hope anyway. That he finally understands what he's doing to me. The moment his body relaxes as he loses consciousness I release him and slap his belly again. He takes a deep shuddering breath.  
Once I'm certain that he's alert again I kiss him more gently, with love more than passion. He's crying, I'm certain.

"I'm sorry, baby, but we need to change things. You are disregarding our contract. It makes me question what we are doing. I won't allow that. For the time being I'm suspending it. No rules, no discipline. We'll keep it simple. I'm not leaving you, I want that well understood but you'll have to earn my attention. You'll have to work bloody damn hard but if you can be reasonably good for one whole week- that means NO issues with life and death situations you create- I will give you what you need, pain. Each time you disobey me however you won't have my attention at all for the next week. Is that understood?"

 

His head drops and lifts almost with no energy. If he feels the way I do, he's sad and scared.

"It's about two hours before I normally go to bed," I explain. "I know this has been hard on you, on us both to be honest and you'd normally get a nice cuddle now, but I'm afraid you're still being punished. You'll stand here, alone, until I come back to put you to bed. In the meantime, think about the contract and what we should do about it."

A hoarse whispery cry, follows me and breaks my heart as I leave the room with the door slightly ajar, "John, please. Don't go. Oh God, please... I'm sorry."  
I slip into my chair in the sitting room and hiding my face in my hands, I let Sherlock's cries of fear and angst tear at my soul. I hope I can fix this, help him and stay sane at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried. This actually made me cry. I'm sorry guys. Sometimes writing pulls your guts out!


	8. John in Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Sherlock make this right again? Will John forgive him?
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> Is icing a tag? I'll add it.
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> If you were sad before, I'm sure the guys are sorry. They'll make it up to you.

Sherlock:

As I hear John leave the room I can’t help crying out as I feel my panic rising, “John, please… don’t go…Oh God, please…I’m sorry.”

I’m so afraid, so alone. My body is shaking and I feel sick. I know he’d be with me within seconds should I really need him in an emergency. Is a breaking heart an emergency?

I need to calm down. I can’t think. I have no visual clues and I can’t move my hands to help me enter into my Mind Palace. John has, obviously, done this on purpose. It feels mean spirited of him at first but as my heart rate comes back around towards normal I understand more of his intentions. This is part of his lesson, to focus on his needs, not mine.

Think about the contract? I do not want to, I think its fine the way it is. Except, maybe he’s correct. Maybe I am pushing him to punish me all the time. Could I really be addicted to pain? Our first time together I had said I was and I meant it. I need to examine this closer but the trouble is without access to my mind palace I’m not sure I can recall the details with the highest level of scientific accuracy. John would tell me to use my heart then to recall memories. I would answer that the heart is just a muscle. He’d laugh at me.

Remembering his laugh so clearly in my head haunts me and startles me. I don’t ever want him to stop laughing. Perhaps this is what John means by remembering with my heart. I’ll follow it through to the end and see if he is correct.

Obviously our first time together was sweet and full of sentiment- at least for John. There was not a whole lot of pain that first session as John explored my body, just a few swats with the riding crop and mild nibbling. I need to remember a time when John first took full control and really helped me explore my need and expanded my boundaries.

An image comes to mind of the first time I saw my John in leather and realized he could indeed be the perfect Dom for me. It was only a few years back and most of the memory came flooding back easily to my surprise.

OOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sherlock recalling:

John stood by the desk grinning so broadly I’m sure his face must have hurt. I’m always amazed a human being can really enjoy life so much as to smile and laugh like that. He touched my shoulder to gain my attention away from my microscope. I turned, observed the vapid grin and felt myself smiling back at him without conscious effort.

“What is so important, John, as to disrupt my concentration?” I said, trying to regain my control over my emotions and traitorous face.

 

A babbling baboon would have been calmer and made more sense than John’s answer, “You have got to check out this website!”

I sighed, hopefully sounding busy enough to put John off. He didn’t budge, just kept pushing his laptop my direction. As he’d normally be snatching it away instead of handing it to me I felt a slight intrigue but only slight. I huffed at him, turning away, and told him, “Show me later, this work is important.”

The excited young man was gone in an instant. He was replaced by a pissed off military officer who barked at me, “This whole bloody damn idea was yours to begin with, Sherlock, and it’s now important to me! Take a look at this website and tell me what you’d like to order.”

I sat back in surprise at how fast John could change gears. All right then, let’s see what was so important to him. I accepted the laptop and I think my eyebrows went straight up into my hairline. It was a well-known BDSM toy and leather gear website. I swallowed a little nervously. I wanted so much to do this with John but I wasn’t yet certain he could pull it off. He’s a doctor and they have a reputation for ending pain not causing it.

“Interesting,” I remarked dryly, not wanting to commit myself one way or the other just yet.

His head tilted to the side to regard me in disbelief. He frowned. “Just interesting?”

“You would be dominant, John. What would you like to use on me?”

He sucked in his lower lip and his eyes went distant as he considered. He looked adorable. All kittens and barely contained rage. After a moment he answered, “Proper cuffs and collar for one. A paddle and canes, of course. What do you think about gags?”

I was impressed. He had considered this as part of our relationship. I answered, “You do seem to get annoyed when I talk back. A gag would certainly help you control that I suppose.”

He nodded, took the laptop from my hands and walked away muttering to himself about making a list. Amused, I watched him a few minutes then returned to my work. He had distracted me however, and now I found it hard to concentrate on saliva samples. Each time he chuckled to himself or jotted something down in his notebook caught my attention. This was getting me nowhere so I abandoned the effort.

“How is the list developing?” I asked him, dropping down on the side of the sofa closest to his chair.

He was pleased with himself as he ticked off his list proudly, “Locking, leather ankle and wrist cuffs, dog collar and leash (he snorted at this), vibrating bullet, small and um, rather larger dildo, chastity device (he glanced up at me on this one, I nodded), locks -obviously, ball gag, open mouth gag too, paddles, canes, oh and various leather clothing. That’s where I got too anyway as a start. And leather trousers for me, do you like them?”

He showed me the ones in question. God, he’d look great in anything leather. “Yes, I like it very much. Order all of it.”

He seemed surprised. “Really?”

 

“Yes,” I affirmed. “And we need to find you leather boots too.”

It was my turn to be surprised as he chuckled darkly and added, “Lickable ones, for certain.”

I barked a short laugh. I poked at him as I spoke and he giggled almost insanely, “John Hamish Watson, you have a very dirty mind!”

“You started this, Sherlock!”

I nabbed his laptop and laid it on the side table. He spread his arms and invited me onto his lap. I crawled into his embrace eagerly. I leaned in close, head to head and whispered, “I deduce you’ve been watching porn again, John. Very naughty of you not to invite me.”

“There’s one called Boot Master. We could watch it together right now if you hand over the laptop.”

We ‘watched’ porn all the rest of the afternoon. At least I think we did. We were a little busy doing other stuff to really notice the screen very often.

 

*****************

I knew that John had received the toys and gear but did not take notice of him unpacking it. There was an important case breakthrough that was keeping my brain pre-occupied and when it finally ended I was quickly back into boring domestic routine.

“Bored!” I yelled at him probably for the tenth time. He reacted as if he hadn’t heard me the first nine times. He set the grocery bags on the table and regarded me quietly.

“I can see that perfectly clearly as there are darts in the wall, Sherlock. No need then to shout at me as I walk in.”

“I need a case, John.”

He sighed dramatically. And he calls ME a drama queen? He spoke slowly as though to a child, “You just finished a case, Sherlock. Less than a day ago in fact. I’m sure Lestrade will call you with something new. There’s always cold cases as well.”

“There are no interesting villains anymore,” I pouted. “No one that can challenge me with a well thought out crime! With Moriarty in hiding somewhere in America, there are no intelligent criminals left in England!”

He ignored my temper filled tantrum and started to put groceries away. He was too satisfied with his quiet life. I decided to spice it up a bit for him.  
I baited him, “Life at home is dull, John. It lacks adventure and mystique. Let’s travel to Nepal!”

“Um, no,” He answered gruffly. By the tone of his voice I had pushed a button. “I think it’s about time we test out the new toys.”

Right where I wanted him. I asked innocently, “Oh, they came in?”

He turned slowly towards me, inclining his head. He growled, “You know perfectly well they did. You observed both the delivery of the box and me carrying said box up to my room. Do NOT pretend you didn’t notice these things.”

“You sound angry and irritated, did you get enough rest last night, John?”

“Between your violin playing, your arguing with something on the telly at 3 A.M, and shouting at me all the rest of the early morning hours because you can’t make your own BLOODY damn tea? No, I didn’t rest well.”

“So your current state of mood and condition are MY fault?” I asked with an upturn of my nose, looking down at him in utter dismay.

His eyes turned fiery and he advanced on me, one finger poking me in the chest. He ordered firmly, “Go to my old room, undress and wait for me in the corner, your nose in it, young man. I’ll come along shortly.”

I was so proud of John that I didn’t argue although I certainly could. I retreated and followed his orders to the T. I felt ridiculous with my nose in the corner but this slight humiliation was sending waves of warmth into my cock, hardening it like iron. He didn’t make me wait long.

He whipped into the room wearing the body hugging leather trousers, black t-shirt, polished black boots and carried my riding crop- now his actually since I had given it to him. This was a huge improvement, in my opinion, since the first time we had played. I had hope for him yet.

He barked another order, “Come here at once and stand in front of me with legs spread and your hands behind your back.”

I jumped to do as he required, my hard cock bobbing deliciously as I moved. I took my place and fought hard not to drop to my knees and lick at the black boots that screamed for my attention.

“Eyes straight ahead, you haven’t earned the right to look at me directly yet!”

My God, I had unleashed a monster! I loved it.

He walked behind me and with the riding crop tapped my inner thighs. I spread my legs out further really feeling the burn as they stretched the muscles. One hand landed on my hips, traced across the small of my back and trailed downwards into my crack. He brought it up again as he walked around me, his fingers always touching me lightly. He needs leather gloves, I thought. I’ll mention it too him later.

He showed me what he held within his tight grasp. A bullet shaped vibrator, slick and easily insertable. He turned it on and it buzzed evilly in his hand like a small, angry hornet. He smiled up into my face although I didn’t look at him. The wall was so interesting behind him. “This should keep you from being too bored!” He announced.

He walked behind me again and simply shoved at my back to make me bend over. “Expose yourself.”

God, I’m so hard at this rough treatment. I reached back and spread my cheeks with both hands. I hear and feel him spit. The globule strikes my hole and makes me tremble in excitement. He has the damn vibrator in place and even has a leather chastity belt from somewhere, locked on to keep me from pushing it out. The humming vibration makes me see stars as it glides over my prostrate.

 

“Stand up straight!” I stand and the vibrator is now relentlessly buzzing my love nut. My cock leaks out copious amounts of pre-cum in response.

He returned to stand in front of me and lifted my chin. When I dared a glance into his eyes I found myself swallowing nervously. They were full of fire and lust. He was in full control of himself and as he decided to take command of me as well I saw it light up his face with real purpose. His stature increased as did his voice level. “I told you NOT to look at me! Look straight ahead! Looks like you need a reminder of my rules already, BOY.”

Trembling with excitement and just a bit of dread, I waited. He grabbed my hand and held it firmly in place with the backside pointing up. With his other hand he brought down the riding crop on my knuckles with a sharp crack resounding through the small room. I jumped and tried to jerk my hand away. The pain was intense. He never relented. The riding crop came down twice more and it was all I could do not to collapse in his arms. My hands are so sensitive that this was actually a decent punishment for me. Knowing that it was justified didn’t make it any easier to take. I whined a bit when he grasped the other arm and raised the crop.

“Stop that infernal whinging! You deserve this, naughty boy! Right, three to this hand then we’ll get you on that wall!”

The whistling, painful decent three times to my knuckles brought tears to my eyes. He dropped the riding crop onto the bed and didn’t stop to coddle or sooth me as he roughly guided me into place between the bolts. I wanted to have a moment to rub the pain away from my fingers but he quickly had me secured with my leather wrist cuffs and rope.

John brought something metallic from the wardrobe and showed me. It was a Whitehead Dental gag that is frankly scary to look at. They are constructed of two metal bars that spread jaws and lock your mouth open. Once in place they can be secured behind the head insuring complete compliance. They make you drool all over yourself. I’m sure that’s the charm John was aiming for, my ultimate humiliation. In that device I’d be unable to annoy him with my retorts and be unable to uphold my refined image.

“Open wide,” he snickered at me. I glared and refused wondering what he might do if I got stubborn. The flat handed slap to my cock made me yelp. He took advantage of my open mouth by grabbing me by the hair, yanking me towards him and as I started to protest at such treatment, he slipped the bars between my front teeth. I tried to spit it out but earned myself a rather hard tap to my cheek. It made me bite down on the bars just as he spread them wide. I was fighting it at once, shaking my head like a wild horse and trying to back away from it. 

He patted my cheek softly and crooned at me, “It’s ok, breathe.”

Stepping back, he ogled my body hungrily. This time I wouldn’t have to wait for him to think about what he wanted to do. This time he had obviously planned. He picked up the riding crop again and ran it’s flat tip along my belly where he had earlier trailed his fingers. It slid upwards and tapped lightly across each nipple. He even brought it up and slid it into my open mouth. I hissed at him angrily for this humiliation. His eyes were bright and hungry. 

 

The crop whipped down onto my cock and unable to scream at the sudden burning pain, I moaned wetly and tried to remember how to breathe.   
Seeing my reaction and apparently enjoying it, he struck me twice more… once on my cock again and once on my left nipple. He strikes seemed random and hard to predict.

My riding crop wielding maniac thrust two fingers in my mouth and played with my tongue a moment. I’m completely helpless to stop him. He wiped the resulting drool on my belly to my dismay.

“You are making an absolute disgusting mess all over yourself. I’ll have to wash you off,” He said. I watched as an evil idea entered his crafty mind. “In fact I should do that right now!”

He left the room and soon I hear him getting ice out of the freezer. The clinking in the glass is somewhat alarming for some reason. He reentered and approached me with a large glass of ice water. “Here, want a drink?” He sneered. I shook my head emphatically.

He fished out an ice cube and slipped it into my mouth. Tilting my head downwards I let it slide out but it dribbled slowly down my chest. He took a small sip to vanquish his own thirst. Then grinning madly-very slowly- made the glass disappear from my sight. He held it just in front of my very hot, very needy cock. A sudden ice bath in its heightened state of arousal will… BURN LIKE FIRE. 

I don’t understand how ice can feel like your skin is being burned off but this certainly did. I howled as the pain engulfed my entire crotch as my once engorged cock suddenly deflated. I’m pretty sure my balls fled all the way up into my throat.

“Oh, you don’t like the cold water?” John sneered.

I wanted to fly him to the Antarctic, strip him naked and hold his dick in a snowbank! I shook my head, the drool flying.

“Then let’s see if you like heat…”

He set the glass down, ice all melted away and crouched in front of me. The heat from his mouth felt like I was being engulfed in an oven. My body shook as I helplessly started to harden once again to his soft administrations of his mouth and tongue. I began to breathe erratically. Between his efforts and the vibration in my ass I was right on the edge. To my horror he stood then took a seat on the bed, just looking at me. He pulled his own hot, hard length out and I watched as he started to stroke himself. This alone pushed me right off the cliff and I moaned through the powerful orgasm. He soon joined me in orgasmic bliss.

As he cleaned off his own cock he teased me mercilessly. His hand caressed and stroked until it moved past pain and turned once again to pleasure. My legs were shaking uncontrollably.

“I’m going to go have lunch,” He remarked. “Be back soon.”

 

He stepped out of the room and within mere seconds was beside me again. “Oh forgot to remove that vibrator, didn’t I? What’s that, Sherlock? Oh leave it in? It might be too much for you though. Might cause you to drain every last bit of cum from your naughty balls. That’s ok? Well, if you insist.”  
It didn’t matter that I had plead through my eyes. He intended to torture me with pleasure.

My cock responded to his words by stretching out and drooling a load of fresh jism onto the floor. He smacked it lightly then grinning left the room.

Each time I needed to cum, my body simply backed away on its own, it kept building and building, the vibrator making me pant and hump the air. No matter what I did, no matter what sexy thought I had I couldn't achieve release. My cock simply drooled and kept me on a razor edge.

By the time he returned I swear there was a bucket of cum around my feet. My cock was so tired that when he touched me again, I really begged. The sound was nothing more than a series of grunts and growls which he chose to ignore.

He untied me and laid the ropes and my cuffs on the chair. He removed the gag. He looked me directly in my eyes and commented, “You make me so angry sometimes.”

“I’m sorry, John, I’ll try harder.” I managed to say as I rubbed my jaw.

He turned me around, unlocked the strap between my legs and allowed the evil vibrating wasp to leave my body. I sighed in absolute relief. He cleaned it off with a wet wipe and set it down.

“We’ll see,” John stated as he turned off the lights behind us as we headed towards the sitting room. “Want to play Clue?”

“I’m not that bored, John.”

Remembering and closely examining my thoughts and feelings during this session it occurs to me that John is right. Even from the very beginning I pushed his buttons to get the painful treatment I needed to float free of this damn brain and complicated existence. If we change how he is punishing me, I know we can keep our contract in place. It is simple. If John will listen to me, if not… no, I will not think about that.

OOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOO

The flat is silent, surely John is still awake and not far away. I want to tell him I understood his anger and disappointment. I know though that I’ve said it a million times. I’ll have to prove it. I make a promise to myself to try. Try for John, for us.

There’s movement in the darkness just in front of me. I want to see John’s face so badly that when he does actually remove the blindfold I start to cry from gratitude.

“Are you ok?” He murmurs softly.

 

The only light is from the bedside lamp but in it I see his eyes are glistening with recently shed tears. I can’t stand myself for being responsible for them.   
Ever so gently he unties the ropes and holds my hands, massaging them back to life. The needles and pins begin to recede as he works in silence.  
I don’t trust my voice to answer. Nodding, I lean towards him for support as he guides me to the freshly made bed. I look at him with confusion.

“You can sleep in here tonight,” he tells me. I must look alarmed for he quickly reassures me. “I don’t think we can make it safely to your room. You’re tired and need rest. The bed is too small for us both but I’ll sit with you till you fall asleep.”

Hoarsely I whisper, “Please don’t banish me.”

My sweet John shakes his head softly at this and tells me, “It’s not banishment. I’m just too tired to carry you. It’s only one night.”

I start to cry anyway. I feel so overwhelmed by emotions that I am surely lost. He looks concerned.

“Hey, come on now. We’re going to be ok, Sherlock. We always are, we always will be.”

He tucks me in and sits by my side on the bed caressing my temple. I fight to keep from falling asleep. I grasp his hand and kiss his fingertips. I can’t think of anything I wanted to remember to tell him and it made me frantic and sad.

“John, I am SO very sorry,” I whisper.

Our fingers interlock and our eyes hold steady. Silently I’m willing him to forgive me. 

“Yes, I know you are sorry, Sherlock”

“No, it’s different this time!” I cry out fearfully. Was he going to reject my words because I’d used them so many times before? “When you locked me out of my mind palace I was able finally to listen to my heart.”

“Oh?”

“John, I am completely addicted to pain. I have been using you…well, pushing you …to give it to me. That’s unfair to you. You are an incredible partner…an amazing Dom…lover, and frankly you don’t deserve such shabby treatment.”

“Thank you for saying so, you rarely have anything positive to say about me.”

Those words hurt but I let them sink in. I realize I always was blasting my poor John about faults I alone can find. He doesn’t deserve that either. I answer solemnly, “You are special, John Watson. You’re the only one that would ever stick up for me even though I attack your character and intelligence on a weekly basis. You have the heart of a lion and spirit of soldier, steadfast and strong. You are my champion and I’ll make special care to treat you as you deserve. If you’ll just give me one more chance.”

 

He wrinkles up his cute nose at me and I know I am, at least for now, forgiven. He chides me, “Getting down right poetic in your old age.”  
“I may be old but you are older still!” I remind him. He chuckles good naturedly, calm and peaceful after the emotional release. I feel better too. “Will you let me try to make this up to you?”

“Obviously,” he comments.

I pulled him closer by his shirt and he collapses over me, his chest resting against mine. “This bed isn’t too small for the two of us!” I tell him.

“You idiot, we both need to rest. We can’t if we are piled together in a heap.”

 

I think about him for a few minutes as he tucks his legs in between mine and rests his head on my shoulder. What does HE need, want to hear? Hugging him tightly to myself, I say, “I’d like to keep the contract. I think the rules will work if we just swap the consequences and rewards.”

“I was thinking the same thing actually. Reward you with pain, punish you with boredom and unrelenting pleasure.” He replies. He sounds like he’s getting sleepy however because he ends it with a long yawn. I match it with one of my own.

“You tried to kill me tonight, John.” I say as soon as it dawns on me.

“Did you think you were going to die?” He asks as he cuddles closer.

I think about the burning in my lungs, the panic in my mind as I slowly blacked out. “The thought did occur to me that maybe you had gone stark raving mad and intended to let me die, yes,” I affirm.

Yawning, he states, “Good. Maybe now you won’t be so keen to risk your life. You’ve seen death and want to live?”

I kiss the top of his head as I sense him slipping into sleep, “Or maybe you are a lunatic.”

“Maybe. You don’t want to find out. Night, Sherlock. I love… (snore).

Night, John. I’m not sure if I said it aloud or not but I certainly felt it in my heart. I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel better?
> 
> I wonder how long this will last????


	9. John Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gentle fluff. No agnst, no plot. Just a loving, care filled day with the guys at home.
> 
> In which Sherlock needs a medical exam. Good thing there's a doctor in the house.

John:

Sherlock is in serious withdrawal now. He’s flitting about the flat, unhinged and ungrounded, grabbing and moving things constantly. My eyes are getting tired following him as he moves fluidly about from one corner of the sitting room to the next always muttering to himself and then freezing suddenly to glare at me. I know precisely what he’s thinking. He thinks it’s MY fault he’s feeling this way but wanting to be better behaved for me –he’s REALLY trying- does not want to risk offending me by telling it to my face. Instead he fusses, grumbles and stares.

If it wasn’t driving me crazy I’d say it’s almost cute that Sherlock is suffering from withdrawal symptoms from his addiction to me and my ability to help him fight boredom with pain. As he passes by me for the thousandth time I grab his hand firmly. He simply stops moving. It’s as if I have stopped the automatic movement of a robot.

“Sherlock, could you stop pacing or doing whatever it is you are doing?” I dare to ask him. 

“I’m NOT pacing! Besides you don’t have a rule against pacing, do you? No rules against losing reading material and then looking for it? Haven’t made a rule for that yet, have you? Maybe I’ve forgotten it.” He retorts almost too quickly for me to follow. 

I squeeze his hand gently. “You are pretty keyed up today. Remember you’ve been through withdrawal before. This too shall pass.”

“I’m NOT in withdrawal!” He half snarls then seems worried he has upset me and ends up with a half pained smile. I realize he may actually be losing it.

“Hold out your hands,” I tell him. He does so almost reluctantly; they are trembling ever so softly. “See? Withdrawal.”

“No,” He says, shaking his head stubbornly. “Just IMPATIENT. I have to find that book!”

“Which book would that be, love?” I ask patiently. I do want to throttle him but I must keep this impulse in check, he needs my help.

“The Definitive Guide on Deciduous Leaf Identification! The one for the case, remember? Or shall I dumb that down for you? It’s the book with pictures of different leaves! I need it because the lab says they can’t identify the leaf they found on the fire escape, MAYBE I can!

Patience IS a virtue- I’m quickly losing. “Do not speak to me that way. I know you are stressed and sleep deprived but you can treat me in a civil manner none-the-less, please.”

 

His head dips and he frowns. He’s fighting for internal control, I see it in his grey eyes. Before he loses that fight and he starts a real argument I happen to spot the book in question on the kitchen table.

I point it out to my keen observer. “The book in question, I believe.”

He seems startled and slightly puzzled. “I looked on the table. Twice.”

“Three times actually…at least.” I correct.

“John, I didn’t OBSERVE it there!”

I pat him on the shoulder gently. “Another sign of withdrawal. You’ll be ok.”

“Maybe I’ve been too distracted or…”

“Withdrawal,” I tell him firmly.

“I told you I AM NOT SUFFERING FROM WITHDRAWAL!” He shouts at me as he flees from me into the kitchen. He snatches up the book he’s spent a good hour searching for and drops hard into a chair, ignoring my worried look.

“I think you need a medical exam, to determine what’s going on,” I announce.

The dark glare he shoots my direction bounces harmlessly off my confidence and determination. I wave his pending retort away and order, “Wait for me to call you into the bedroom. I’ll take care of this exam myself.”

I ignore his angry snort and head into the bedroom.

********************

Ten minutes later Sherlock sits on the edge of the portable message table with his legs dangling over the side, swinging them impatiently back and forth as he waits for me. He’s supposed to be covered by his sheet but he’s mostly let it slip off onto the floor at this point. As I button my white coat and settle my stethoscope into place around my neck I tut at him and tell him firmly, “Sit still, Sherlock. That table is not that stable.”

“I told you I’m fine,” he whines for the twentieth time. For the twentieth time I answer him with a deep frown of annoyance. He wiggles uncomfortably but does manage, at least for now, to stop the swinging of his legs.

In good humor, I have a lolly tucked in my jacket pocket and I see him observe it as soon as I turn towards him. He licks his lips and asks, “May I have that?”

Silly boy. I pat him on the knee and reassure him, “If you are a good boy for your exam. Please address me as Dr. Watson, young man.”

Sighing dramatically he repeats, “I’m fine… Dr. Watson. I do not need an exam”

“Sherlock, wheedling and pouting is not going to earn you that lolly, you know.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Hmmm, good to know,” I say lifting his wrist and taking his pulse. “Stop acting like one.”

I get nearly three minutes of silence- a world record for him. He ruins it by adding sulkily, “You are very demanding and bossy, you know that?”

“Really? Is that the attitude you want to take with me this morning, young man?”

He knows where this is heading, at least I hope he does. For a moment he seems placated and allows me to listen to his lungs and heart. His heart is racing and his breathing, shallow and gasping, as though he’s been running.

“How have you been sleeping?” I ask him. I know perfectly well that he is currently suffering through a long bout of insomnia but I want to know his opinion of it.

“The usual,” He remarks. He won't look me in the eyes.

“So not at all,” I confirm as I jot this down in my notes. He watches me carefully.

“You actually have a medical file on me?”

“Obviously,” I respond, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought all those other times we were just role playing or something. You took notes?”

His skin is paler than normal, slightly clammy. I jot it down as I nod to answer his question.

“Headaches?” I ask. “Pain anywhere?”

“Yes, to both. My hands and feet hurt. And before you ask, the headache pain is a constant throbbing, I’d say about a six and the other pain is mostly a dull ache in the joints, perhaps in the four to five range.” To me this means of course that his pain levels have been much higher.

I tut at him again. “Sherlock, why didn’t you tell me earlier? Did you take anything for it?”

He shakes his head. I want to whack him on the back of his head but hold back on this too. Not inflicting corrective pain on my boy is becoming a real challenge. I leave his side for a few minutes to retrieve paracetamol tablets and a glass of tap water from the bathroom. I hand them over silently and ensure he takes them.

“I’m certain you are experiencing mild withdrawal symptoms, Sherlock but I’d like to run a few tests.”

He squints suspiciously at me, obviously curious. He asks, “What sort of tests? Like a urine sample? How about a semen sample, would love to give you one of those, Dr. Watson. Must say you are a SEXY doctor.”

“Thank you. We’ll get you ready for the urine sample first. Lay down on your back, please, with your arms at your sides. Try to relax.”

As I grasp his soft cock it starts to harden at my attention. I smile at him approvingly and feeling shy, he looks away as I begin to stroke him gently. I turn away for a moment to locate a small leather covered box. Opening it makes it rattle and draws his interest. I show him the contents; long rods with various widths of ball at the ends. His eyebrow arches in a question. I’ve not used these on him before and he’s curious.

“Sounds,” I tell him. “They gently stretch you out for the catheter.”

I tip a small tube of disinfecting lube into his cock hole and squeeze. He shudders at the strange sensation of something flowing back into his cock instead of out of it. Holding him in one hand, I select the smallest sound and tip the ball into his cock’s opening. It sinks down immediately with a delicious moan from my boy. I lift the sound slowly and let it drop in again. Pre-cum oozes out of the tiny hole. 

“More?” I ask.

His eyes are glazing over as he sinks into the feeling of surrender as I control his cock. I’m certain he’s overwhelmed yet again by a feeling of profound helplessness and passion. It’s a strange yet powerful combination.

“Please,” He whispers.

I exchange the smallest sound for one two sizes larger. He should feel an incredible stretch but not pain. I add more lube and as the sound drops in smooth as gliding on silk, he gasps and thrusts upwards towards my hand. Not bored any more, I muse.

“Oh John…”

“Try pushing it out yourself.”

Grunting, he strains and very slowly the sound rises on its own. I catch it before it falls completely out. I exchange it again for a larger one. As it disappears into his cock he starts to pant heavily. I grasp its thin rod and start to fuck his cock with it. Sliding it in and out gently, Sherlock pumps his hips in earnest. Before he can cum around the sound I remove it quickly and he gasps at the sudden absence of so much pleasure.

“You’re stretched enough for the catheter,” I remark dryly. He shudders helplessly, looking into my eyes pleading for release. I deny him.

I insert the thin catheter one centimeter at a time, giving Sherlock plenty of time to adjust to it’s invasion. It is only slightly larger than the last sound so that I don’t have much difficulty at all. Once I meet resistance I pet his belly and tell him, “I need to get this through the sphincter into your bladder. It won’t hurt but it will feel strange. RELAX.”

The petting seems to alleviate his nerves. I soon have the catheter fully seated in place and connect the free end to the collection bag. The urine that flows in is darker than I’d like.

“Sherlock, I thought I told you to drink more water. You are dehydrated. That’s probably one cause for the headache.”

He rolls his eyes. Sometimes I swear he’s a teenager disguised as an adult. I know how to deal with him though when he’s being a bit immature. I slide the lolly out of my pocket, show it to him and remark, “It’s raspberry. I prefer grape myself but since it’s my boy’s favorite it would be too bad if I had to eat it myself because he’s being rude to me.”

 

He licks his lips and remarks petulantly, “Go ahead then, eat it. I don’t want it.”

Testing me lightly. Fine. I start to remove the wrapper and he grabs my wrist above the light blue nitrile glove. He says, “Alright, I’ll drink more water, Dr. Watson.”

I put the lolly back in my pocket and pat his knee. He can be a good boy when he wants to be.

I remove the urine collection bag but not the catheter. It is seated in place by a tiny balloon and Sherlock cannot dislodge it. Patients with catheters are usually very compliant. Just how I want him at this time.

“Turn over and get onto all fours, please, for your rectal exam.”

He turns over slowly and rests his head on his arms, ass presented beautifully in front of me just at face height. Sherlock is always remarkably clean of that I am certain. I lean forward and run my tongue along his crack. This catches him by surprise and he almost jerks away a moment before relaxing again. With one hand I caress his ball sack and with the other I steady him by placing it on his hip, holding him in place as I lap in earnest. His sounds turn guttural as I lick and lightly nip at his puckered hole. I swirl my tongue several times along the tightly closed ridge then slip in the tip. With a gentle squeeze to his balls I fuck him with my tongue and groan at how he reacts to it. His movement, sharp, short grunts and panting are driving me wild as well. I decide once this medical exam is over Sherlock and I could use some exercise- of the sexual kind.

I put lube on my gloved fingers and press two inside. A whimpering hiss meets this new invasion but my sweet boy is used to being stretched out. He quickly relaxes and accepts. I scissor and curl my fingers.

“Checking your prostate,” I tell him.

His ass wiggles under my hand as I press into his love nut several times. He murmurs softly, out of breath, “Checking it a few times, are you, Dr. Watson?”

I flex and scissor my fingers again in answer to his sarcastic remark. Soon I add a third and fourth finger as I move them firmly in and out, stretching his hole and squeezing his balls in the same rhythm. I add more lube to his hole and my entire hand. This will be his first time being fisted. I want him as calm and relaxed as possible. I tighten my fingers together into a point and begin the slow entry into his gaping hole. Reaching the wider knuckles I wait for him to adjust.

He whimpers a bit at the slight burn of my hand opening him. “Ahh, John…”

“You are ok, push back and relax.”

As soon as I feel him comply I press into him; my entire hand up to the wrist engulfed in a very tight, very hot tunnel. I don’t move any further as he starts to shiver.

“Green?” I ask him quietly.

“Oh God… yes, green… Emerald… Holy Crap, that’s intense!”

 

Gently I pull out and push back in. He lifts his upper body onto his arms, wiggles his ass on my hand, then drops spinelessly back down, groaning in pleasure. I fuck him this way for several more minutes reveling in his passionate pleading and moaning.

Pulling out and removing the gloves, I pat him on the ass and say, “Prostate seems fine, Sherlock. Time to check those muscle reflexes.”

I love the impassioned plea in his eyes. I imagine he’s very close and needing release. 

“What’s wrong, baby? You look like you are struggling with something. Tell me what’s wrong.” I tease my boy lightly. In supplication, he turns his head away and sighs deeply. He deduces correctly that I’m not planning to give in to his request any time soon. Once I verify that he isn’t going to actually ask for release, I tell him, “Get up please and move to the bed.”

Once he is standing, I grasp his hips and halt his forward progress after a quick change of mind. He shivers under my touch as I run my hands possessively over his ass, back and shoulders. I can count his ribs again and this displeases me.

“You need to eat better as well,” I warn. He knows this tone and nods reluctantly.

I step in close and hug around his chest. As I kiss his spine he clasps my hands in his and hold them over his heart. We stand that way for a few minutes until, needing activity to keep his mind occupied, Sherlock wiggles out of my embrace and lays down on the bed. He looks at me quietly watching as I set up the electric stimulation pads and wires.

A worried frown crosses his face as he remarks, “That hurts, doesn’t it? Have I earned punishment?”

“At a high setting, certainly it serves as punishment, but I’ll keep the stimulation levels low. It should feel good, tingly.”

I place pads on his lower belly and before I loop a wire around the base of his balls and cock, I deflate the catheter balloon and ease it out. I produce the power box and demonstrate that I’m only going to turn the dials only to the first few marks. As the little red light begins to blink he utters a deep sound of overpowering desire. It hardens me instantly.

I lift his hand and press it into my crotch to encourage him to caress the bulge there. Bliss is washing over his features as his muscles twitch from the gentle stimulation. His hands are no longer shaky but firm, and pressing eagerly into me. Turning the dial one more notch and his breath stutters, his hand freezing over my hard length. His cock dribbles onto the sheet and twitches from the milking it’s receiving. I turn down the dial again to allow him to get control again of his breathing.

Eventually he and I back slowly from the edge, enjoying the build-up. He eyes my bulge hopefully and licks his lips. Not a bad idea, I think.

Before I can join him on the bed he grasps and presses my fingers to my lips and kisses them softly. A slight grin slides in place as he nibbles on them.  
“You seem to feel better,” I respond, tugging his new teething toy away.

 

“MMmmm, I do feel better, thanks. May I have the lolly now, Dr. Watson?”

Snort. “You think you’ve earned it, little boy?”

He shyly smiles and nods. He’s so damn cute and innocent looking I want to devour him. In fact that sounds like a great idea.

“There’s something I’d like to suck on.”

He’s bright, my boy Sherlock is, but right now he has the dumbest look on his face when he asks, “What?”

He looks at me almost innocently, still confused for a moment. As I press him down onto the mattress and grab at his thighs to spread them realization finally widens his soft blue-grey, gold flecked eyes. 

“Oh that.”

“Sherlock, you’re an idiot.”

He grins at me. “Why are you still talking?”

OH HELL NO! I slap playfully at his hard dick as he tries to move away and protect himself from my onslaught. In moments I have him pinned down and he’s howling in laughter as I proceed to tickle every vulnerable spot I can reach. I growl, chuckling at him as he twists and turns away from me, “I’m going to bite too, you’ve been warned!”

“No, you can’t bite! That would feed my addiction!”

“I can’t, hmmm… maybe just this one exception… light nibbling?” I gnash my teeth at him and he tries in vain to cover his naughty bits that I intend on leaving teeth marks on.

****************************

Hours later, cuddling on the sofa, my boy is much calmer and perhaps almost ridiculously happy. He offers me the remote as he stretches out his long body and scooches down so that his head is resting on my lap, his hands steepled beneath his chin. He can spend quite a bit of time in his Mind Palace, dusting or redecorating or whatever he does when he’s not reviewing case material, so I settle back for a long evening. Setting the remote aside, I pick up my laptop from the side table and rest it on the sofa arm. I open my blog and start to organize my thoughts into ideas to write when Sherlock abruptly opens his eyes and stares at me.

“Did I disrupt you? Sorry,” I tell him, slightly startled by his intense focus.

“No, a thought occurred to me, John.”

“Oh?” I ask.

“Tomorrow it will be exactly one week since you last punished me.”

Not wishing to commit to anything, I nod, waiting.

 

“I’ve been doing well with the rules?”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“I haven’t driven you crazy with whining, badgering or rude remarks.”

Well, mostly you haven’t, I think. But knowing my boy would be crushed if I disagree with his self-assessment I confirm, “Vast improvements. Not perfect but certainly I don’t expect perfection either. You've done well certainly.”

“Then?” he asks quietly. “Perhaps a reward?”

“Shall I arrange a session time at the club for tomorrow evening?”

His eyes grow large in excitement; he loves the club- its crowds pressing in and watching us. His voice dripping with hope he inquires, “Do you think I’ve earned it?”

I pet his hair, tangling my fingers in the dark curls and tug gently. Very slight pain to be sure but enough to confirm his behavior has been good enough to earn it.

He closes his eyes and states, “You’ll make it a painful, long session I’m sure.”

Oh yes. “And humiliating,” I add.

He hums softly in satisfaction as he descends in his Mind Palace and I start to ‘research’ some ideas on the Internet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't say this but he does give Sherlock the lolly. I'm kind of laughing here because I can imagine the classic after sex pose on the bed with our guys lying side by side but instead of a cigerette, Sherlock has a lollipop in his mouth. Maybe it's a three lolly evening?


	10. The Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A BDSM scene at the club, Exposure.
> 
> Good boy, Sherlock. You've earned a reward, of pain!
> 
> Tags: Bondage, flogging, edging, humiliation, suspension

Sherlock:

“Wild and untamed is the look we’re achieving tonight, I guess.” John mutters as he slips a blindfold over my eyes and brushes his fingers through my hair to try to tame a few errant curls.

I’m so pleased to have gotten through a long, boring week of following the damn house rules that I’m in a good mood. His irritation at my unruly hair is humorous. 

“Pirate theme,” I suggest into the darkness.

He taps my face to remind me to be quiet but I also hear a dry chuckle. Gently he caresses my neck, murmuring to himself. A moment later I feel the high posture collar subtly pushing upwards on my chin as it too is locked. I hear the leash attached to the collar’s eyebolt and a gentle tug to ensure I know it’s there. Finally he buckles my leather ankle and wrist cuffs in place.

John moves away from me without saying another word. I wait in my corner listening for him to return. It’s unnerving. The sounds of the club pulse around me like an ocean wave and I feel disoriented and slightly dizzy. Not far from me a Sub is being edged mercilessly and he is shamefully crying out a plea to be allowed to cum. There are cat calls from bystanders watching his ordeal. I want to add to his humiliation with nasty deductions about his low tolerance and make fun of his begging. I know better though. John hates when I deduce anyone into rubble. I need to concentrate on listening for him to return.

Someone steps into the small alcove and rests a hand on my belly. It isn’t John. I want to back away, perhaps fight back if he does anything more than just touch me. With my hands tightly clasped behind my head where John has placed them I struggle with the impulse to drop them and push this man away. He moves closer and I can smell his aftershave.

It’s Gavin. 

I’m not sure how to feel about this. We have never really spoken about my humiliation at having to hump his leg; other than him asking if I was ok. I grind my teeth together so tightly to keep from speaking to him out of my place that my jaw muscles are jumping.

“Greg will be watching, Sherlock.”

I nearly jump out of my skin hearing John speak so closely to me. He must be standing right next to Greg. “He’s going to evaluate your performance tonight and tell me if he thinks you need improvement. Edward will too, by the way, so I think you’d best be up to your full game. No failures in your submission.”

 

He’s going to push my boundaries. I straighten my stance to show him I’m committed and ready. A rough hand tugs hard on the leash and as I’m drug forwards Greg calls out with a sneering laugh, “And when you fail I’m going to really enjoy your humiliating punishment.”

I have no sense whether we are heading to the central stage or one that is more private to the side. It doesn’t matter I suppose. There will still be a crowd no matter where we carry out this session. People love John- his commanding tone and possessive, cold manner are riveting.

There’s a tall pole in front of me. Without a word of warning he shoves me against it and makes me lift my arms so that he may attach my cuffs to the bolt at the top of it. A spreader bar is secured to my ankle cuffs and a chain keeps them firmly on the ground.

A whistling sound catches me by surprise a moment before fire spreads in a thin, sharp line across my shoulder. My brain tries to hold onto the observation that it feels like a two meter long bullwhip of extremely high quality leather but as the whip leaves another stinging stripe down next to the first one my brain takes a little vacation. I bite back a yelp and end up biting my own tongue. That pain is enough to distract me from the whip for a few seconds as it descends loudly onto my hip with a terrifying pop.

“You’re allowed to show your appreciation for my effort, boy,” John calls out to me sounding almost breathless. It’s hard work to whip someone. Many Doms never seek training on how to do it right, which is to bring about maximum pain without inflicting serious damage. You don’t just aim and launch it. There is a real finesse to master. John has taken private lessons from Exposure’s owner, Edward, who- as I understand it- learned his craft from a Japanese master and maker of fine whips.

John wants to know how I’m doing by judging my sounds. Fine. I can oblige. The next time the whip strikes I yelp loudly as it bites my hip again. I lean my face against the cool metal pole and pull against the cuffs above my head. I’m not going anywhere. Knowing that I am submitting to John’s will even for this, funny enough, helps me handle the intense pain. 

There’s no other sound quite like a whip tearing through the air. It’s impossible to judge where it’s going to strike. John is laying down a pattern though of one strike high on my shoulder followed by one low across one buttock and hip. It’s burning intensely like a blast from a fire breathing dragon and I really can’t hold my sounds back any longer if I wanted to.

These will leave marks no doubt. I’m sure my upper back and ass are a roadmap of nasty pink welts. I’m moving forward and backward in time with his rhythm. This is a dance between his power and my ultimate supplication. Although I cannot run from him I wouldn’t in any case. I love my mad, whip wielding maniac with all my heart, passion and soul. I realize I’m thinking sentimentally but in this moment there is no other way to feel. Being whipped, hurt in any real way, tends to make a Sub very emotional. There’s no way to avoid it, not even for a deducing machine like me.

I’m reaching the breaking point, gasping and shivering as the pain builds. I’m going to need to safe word. I know if I reach that point it would be ok with John.

Abruptly he stops, to my great relief. He knows my boundaries well, the little signs that I’ve reached my limit. My breath shudders out of me and I relax against the pole, giving my tired arms a break from the wrestling match they have had against the restraints. My legs are still shaking but as the pain eases back, I can better control them.

 

Ever so gently he spreads some sort of oil on my back and I cry out softly at the sting. It will help me heal but honestly, I don’t want the raw meat touched. He applies it to my hips and he is so close I can smell him. My whimper is met with a calming murmur.

“Shhh, boy, you did well.”

His praise is like a salve. It heals everything that’s happened in the past week.

“I’m changing your position now,” he tells me as he unfastens my cuffs from the pole. He guides me to a corner of the small stage and pulls downwards on the leash. I kneel quietly, exhausted, taking a resting position on all fours, head against the wooden boards. I just about have full control over my breathing again, feel less floaty. As he steps back from me I hear him ask for the winch to be lowered, a table to be brought and for the rope.

There’s a soft clanking over my head as a chain is brought down from the ceiling. Its mechanisms can easily hold and maneuver my weight. He’s checked the chain- I hear him fussing with it- and returns to my side to help me up. Still blindfolded I am disoriented and vulnerable to falling but with my John I have no such fear. His hands steady me until I’m standing without wavering.

Within minutes I find John’s hands busy at my throat removing the stiff posture collar. He must pass it onto a handler for safe keeping as he would never drop our own leather gear onto the floor. Soon my wrist and ankle cuffs join it and I hear a pocket on our gear bag being closed followed quickly by another being opened. I have no idea what he’s retrieved from the bag and twitch a bit when he’s suddenly at my face, touching my cheek to signal he needs my mouth open. He expects full, unquestioning compliance today although he knows I hate gags with a real passion. It’s a thick rubber bit gag that I can bite down on when I need to. Next he strokes my chest and grasping my nipple in one hand, he attaches a clover leaf clamp. Its bite is strong and I hiss around the gag. In my mind’s eye I know he is either grinning at my reaction, enjoying my pain or he’s biting his lower lip in concentration. I wish I could see which he is doing. Several hard tugs on the chain attached to the clamp elicits a loud moan from me as the pain blossoms and I think I have my answer without the visual evidence- he’s looking like a mad scientist about to zap his creation to life. He’s also probably very hard. He attaches the other clamp to my unmarred nipple and idly holds the chain still. When he thinks I’m ready- as if I ever will be- he drops the chain to dangle against my chest. I’m thankful I have something to bite down on. It feels like my nipples are being crushed then ripped off.

John begins the intricate process of tying a secure, weight bearing shoulder harness out of the Japanese ropes. Their caress is soft but firm. As there is very little give in this type rope there will be no pinching or slippage of knots. It stays exactly as it is tied. He works quickly- unlike our very first time where he ended the session confused and cursing from frustration. He has mastered this craft too. He loops the rope over my shoulders, across the chest, under the opposite arm and creates a nice tying point in the center of my back. 

A sturdy hand grasps my wrist and shows me where there is a table waiting for me. I clamber onto but resist a moment from laying down on my stomach. The chain to the clamps has swung and refreshed the burn on my chest. I'd like to avoid putting pressure on them if I can help it. At my slight hesitation I feel the chain lifted and dropped. Yelping, I drop face down as I’m supposed to and though the correction hurt it in some ways helped. The pain does not get any worse as I press down on my nipples.

John yanks one hand at a time to the center of my back, loops rope around each wrist and brings them to the center tie point of the harness he’s created. Once my arms are secure he begins to tie my ankles together, slightly crossed. Tugging firmly to bend my legs at the knees he mounts these too to the main tie point. I hear the electric clacking of the chain as he starts to take up the slack and my body, at a 45 degree angle, lifts several inches off the table surface. He checks all his knots then tells the handlers to remove the table. Suspension is a bit unnerving particularly when the Dom can maneuver your body in any manner desired. I struggle to keep my head up and try to focus in on John’s where about before I lose track of my spatial awareness.  
His hands are upon me, touching my exposed skin and he teases at the pink welts left behind by the whip. Feeling completely under his power and whim, I whimper softly over the bit. This indulgence on my part is met with a hard slap to my outer thigh. It makes my body spin drunkenly a moment before he grasps my head to stop my rotation. He massages the muscles around my aching jaws and dips forward to kiss me over the bit.

“You are drooling again,” he remarks with a snort. “But you look gorgeous.”

Tapping me on the shoulder spins my body away from him until- I think- I’m sideways to him again. I feel a bit dizzy and drunk. John’s hands soon find my straining cock and he quickly applies a lubricant. His hands smoothly glide up and down its hard length. It’s going to be difficult to obey the standing order of no orgasms unless being given permission. I fear I’m in for a long night of torturous edging. Satisfied that I’m hungry and waiting for more contact, he next turns his attention to the chain dangling from my chest. The pain there has adjusted to a low simmer but as he yanks down on it I groan around the gag at the intense flash of heat across my chest.

“Hand me the flogger, please.”

He’s standing on my right but just as I get more oriented again he gently pushes so that I’m very slowly turning in front of him. The flogger slaps at my sore ass and fans out like little biting snakes. It’s across my right shoulder then underneath me striking the nipple crushed in the clamp’s bite. He’s not striking me terribly hard but it hurts never the less. It seems so at random that I’m having a hard time focusing on where to tense the muscles to ease its sting. Soon it seems relentlessly to be setting fire to my whole body including the soles of my feet and my dangling cock and balls. I feel helpless and being flailed alive. I howl behind the gag; my heart pounding and blood thumping in my ears deafening me.

The flogging stops for a reprieve perhaps, allowing me to catch my breath and steady my nerves. John’s hand soon teases at my cock though, pulling hard to stretch it out. Pleasure and pain become one. Just as I reach for my climax his hand leaves me. At the moment I want to grab him, tie him down and fuck his brains out.

Instead of spinning me I hear him step around my body until he stands at my feet. As my hands and feet are very sensitive I never let anyone touch them. I shiver in anxiety and anticipation expecting his touch down there to overwhelm me. He keeps me waiting forever. Finally a clothes pin nips at a toe, then another one is mercilessly applied. They don’t really hurt- not yet. They will though. I try to wiggle my feet away from John and I hear his heartless, aroused chuckle. He’s really enjoying this. Damn him. He pinches my other little toe and as he does so I swear if he calls them piggies and starts to recite any pedantic childhood poem at me I may simply burst out these bonds and murder him. Thankfully no little piggies are going to market today. John’s life has been spared. He runs a firm finger along my soles and I nearly wet myself laughing and twitching uncontrollably as he strokes me over and over. I hear our little audience and handlers laughing as well at my predicament.

Soon the flogger is back and meeting out nasty slashes every few seconds. It starts underneath on my belly, scorches across my cock, snaps at my balls, hips, ass and moves to my feet where it laps hard at my poor toes, sending the clothes pins to clatter on the floor. He pushes me so that I spin again and he lays down a fiery salvo on the other side of my body. Thankfully he grabs my ear and stops the spin before I hurl at the rocking motion. He caresses the shell of it softly then I feel him dip closer. He’s breathing in my ear, the soft, hot gasps are sending lightening to my cock. He licks at my ear and I try so hard not to laugh at the sensation that I end up gasping and groaning. Several clothes pins are applied for the very first time to my ears. They hurt right away. He puts three more on the other ear then with a dirty little chuckle, pleased with himself. He slips one into my nose so that it bites down on a nostril. I shake my head trying to get it off. He tugs hard on my sensitive curls until my head is hanging, exposing the back of my neck to him. The flogger returns, this time concentrating on my upper shoulders and neck. He holds my head steady as he brings it down relentlessly, revisiting the same spots several times.

As I pant trying to catch my breath he playfully dangles the strands over my head, allows them to tangle with the clothes pins on my ears and pulls a few free as he lifts the flogger again. I’m mewling helplessly, very tired and disoriented. A tug at the pin on my nose and the ones on my head end the suspension session with mad bee stings.

I don’t recall him asking for the table but it is suddenly beneath me as I am lowered. There’s so much aching in my body now I don’t feel the clamps being squashed beneath my body weight. It’s all one big blur of heat. My ankles are untied first and I am grateful for the gentle massage to my ankles. He unties my hands and they receive the same thoughtful treatment. Slow circles are being rubbed into my back and ass so that I actually relax a few minutes. He hasn’t told me we are finished so I take advantage of every peaceful moment I’m allowed. The knots are untied and the rope harness slipped off as I rest.

“Hold still while I get the blindfold and bit off,” John orders.

The blindfold slips off and I keep my eyes closed despite knowing Exposure isn’t brightly lit. I’m so comfortable and tired I’m thinking about a little nap. I certainly wouldn’t be the first sub to doze off between scenes. It takes a lot of energy to submit. The gag is unbuckled and I spit the hateful thing out onto the table. My jaws are singing. I’d rub them if I were allowed to move my limbs on my own. Thoughtfully, John takes care of this with firm fingers. I’m humming in pleasure as the pain subsides.

John is speaking to me I think. I make an effort to turn my focus on my hearing, “Let’s get you up, boy.”

Oh let’s not and just say we did. Thank God my mouth isn’t engaged otherwise I’d have gotten a good slap from the wise ass comments my brain was carrying on within the safety of my head.

I don’t know how I got off the table. My body must be on autopilot. I find myself standing, eyes popping open to orient me and feel John’s sturdy presence behind me- allowing me to lean somewhat in his tight embrace. John motions someone off stage in the darker area just outside of the stage lights to join him. As he moves, I recognize Greg right away. My brain tries to deduce what going to happen but somehow the different components are not communicating clearly. There’s just a sort of white noise going on. It’s very peaceful actually. Greg stands very close in front of me and he seems to be grinning inanely. This can’t be good thing but my mind just shrugs.

“Sherlock,” Greg greets me.

“Gavin.”

I hear John snort a laugh behind me but his hands pinch my nipples hard. I’m a little confused about the correction. The man in front of me just caresses my face and laughs too.

“He’s really flying, John.”

“I know but he’ll be grounded again in a bit,” John replies. I squirm in his warm hug, enjoying the feeling of leaning on him for support. My strong, wonderful John.

John’s firm fingers stroke my dripping cock. There’s simply no way for me to get any closer to orgasm- or so I think. I almost cry as he continues mercilessly teasing me to the very edge of an explosion. Each trip up the length from base to sensitized tip and back down causes me to shudder and groan. Greg has his own cock out and matches his pace of strokes to coincide to the teasing John is delivering to my tortured manhood.

“You look at GREG and watch him cum, boy,” John commands me. “You don’t deserve such a luxury and you’d better not spurt no matter how close I get you!”

I want to close my eyes. I dare not even though John is behind me. If I do I will be punished- maybe edged longer or denied orgasm another week. Whatever mean punishment John can think of. My eyes are locked on Greg’s, our breathing linked by the hands pushing us steadily to the brink.

“John…” I gasp hoarsely. His hand closes on my balls and yanks downwards; halting my orgasm masterfully. I swear the quick stop has put my balls up through my throat.

Greg’s hand speeds up and he grunts through his release, spending his seed into his own hand. With a mocking sneer he steps up to me and wipes his jism on my face. Leaning close he kisses my forehead gently and he winks at me as he backs away again.

“Ah, that’s sweet of GREG, isn’t it, boy? Aren’t you lucky to have such a thoughtful friend?”

Heat rises from my chest, crosses my face and burns away the tips of my ears. But God, it feels so sexy too, to be played with like a toy. I’m so keyed up right now I’d hump Greg’s leg on Main street if I were allowed to debase myself that way. I could probably poke a hole through a brick wall with my dick at the moment.

“Chair, please.” John calls off stage. One is quickly produced. He takes a seat and guides me over his lap. My hardness is rubbing against the smooth leather encasing his thigh. As he smacks me I’ll be driven forward each time to torture myself. I know this is the plan. I’m helpless to stop him.

This isn’t a very hard spanking. It doesn’t need to be. The whip and flogger have softened me up for his hand. Each swat renews earlier pain and I’m bucking and fighting it very quickly. I push against his leg, arch my back away from it over and over. As I do so- as I was afraid of- I’m humping John’s lap and my brain is loving every second of it. My cock has slicked up the leather with pre-cum and as I glide over it, it feels like a leather glove caressing me.

“Please, John?”

The spanking continues as I rise onto my toes and flail wildly, bucking my hips underneath his hand.

“Please what?” John teases. The smacks increase in speed. I’m mindlessly being driven into his thighs.

“PleasemayIcome?” I scream out. Oh God, I’m fighting, losing…there is a wave descending, going to crash.

“No, you may not,” John the Heartless states.

I can’t stop this train wreck. As my jism rips out of me I hear the audience standing around us boo and deride me for my poor behavior. The spanking continues even though I’ve spent my load. I hiss at the sensation of my tired, flagging cock still being rubbed by my movements against John’s hard leg.  
When the hand on my back lifts at the end of the spanking, he simply tips me off his lap onto the floor. He’s obviously disgusted at my poor self-control otherwise he would have rubbed my back a few minutes before allowing me to stand. Ashamed, I hide my face in my hands as I crouch on all fours on the floor, waiting by his boots, I want so badly to lick them but bad boys do not get such honors. 

I feel John put the dog collar around my neck. As he buckles it in place I whimper softly. I’m uncertain what he plans to do with me. He grasps me by my hair and viscously yanks my head up.

“Open your mouth, bad boy!” He shoves the handle of a small, wooden paddle into my mouth. I grasp it lightly knowing I had better leave no teeth marks in the wood of one his favorite implements. He turns to the group watching us and announces for their benefit, “You failed to obey my command and because of this you will crawl around to every person in this bar with the paddle in your mouth. They may take the paddle from you and you will apologize and beg their forgiveness. If they so desire they may strike your ass once as hard as they please.”

John hands the leash to Greg and to my dismay I am tugged down the stairs and onto the cement club floor behind him. I try to keep my eyes on John but as we quickly move away towards one of the corners I lose sight of him. My heart is pounding and I’m crying already in anxiety of being disconnected from him so abruptly. The first group is engaged in their own scene but the Master, in leather chaps, stops and observes me with a deep frown. I’m interrupting him because I’ve been naughty. I want to crawl into a hole. He takes the paddle from me and there’s a hard yank to the chain to remind me of my duty.  
“Please, Sir. I’m sorry for cumming without my Master’s permission. Please forgive me. He said you may smack me with the paddle if you wish.”

Without a word the very powerfully built Master drops a nasty blow to my ass. I yelp but before I can make any further noise the paddle handle is shoved back between my teeth. Greg drags me away.

The next Dom, a man I’ve known now for several years, is sitting with his sweet boy at a table allowing him to replenish his hydration levels with Gatorade as he gently strokes his thigh. My mouth waters. I’d love a relieving sip just about now. It dawns on me that John usually insists on me taking a few sips of water between scenes and that he’s neglected it this time. It’s undoubtedly a lesson. Better stop letting myself get dehydrated.

The boy almost laughs when he hears me tell his Dom what I had told the previous Master. The Dom nods seriously and delivers his blow just as hard as the first man did. Again the paddle is replaced without comment.

Tears are flowing down my cheeks as I meekly follow behind Greg all around Exposure; moving slowly from group to group. Each time my little speech elicits disappointed or angry looks from the dominant and laughter from the subs and slaves. Like an obedient dog I creep behind Greg to the last man. I’ve never seen him before at the club but that doesn’t really matter.

“You can take the paddle out his mouth, Sir,” Greg says to him. “He has something he has to say.”

The paddle now in the hands of a stranger, I take a shaky breath- almost begging for mercy. Almost. It wouldn’t end well if I begged.

“Please, Sir. I came without my Master’s permission. Please forgive me for interrupting your evening. He said you may smack me with the paddle if you wish.”

“I bet that’s a mistake you regret.”

It’s a statement not a question. I cannot comment. He takes a step so that he looms over me, looking for a prime spot. He taps the wood against my reddened ass in preparation, lifts it and drives it into my ass cheek. I drop my head to the floor and cry; trying hard to regain some control by biting on my knuckle.

After a moment, Greg tugs on the leash again and boneless I pad along behind him. My hands and knees are aching. He’s brought me now to Edward, the club’s owner. I tremble and wait for him to take the paddle. When he does his hand lingers by my cheek and I press a quick kiss to it.

“Sweet boy,” He murmurs above me. I’m so tired I can’t move. I lay my forehead on his feet. I can’t talk, I’m sobbing too hard. “Last one.”

Smack. It’s more of a light swat but makes a loud noise. Still it hurts just enough to send me sailing over the edge. I start to plead.

“Please, please don’t spank me!” I curl tightly into a ball on the floor. I can’t help myself.

Edward shushes me, reaches down and pats me on the head. Greg quickly kneels by my side and slips the collar off. I’m done for tonight. But where is John? Surely he hasn’t left me here?

“Crawl to John, Sherlock, he’s right over there,” Edward tells me. He notes my concerned, lost look and points him out to me. “See him? Go on now. He’s waiting for you.”

In the state I’m in it’s a seriously long crawl but I never take my eyes off John. He watches me approaching and pats his knee as I get closer. I scramble like a lost puppy into his lap. He kisses my lips gently and squeezes me so tightly I can’t breathe. We stay like that a long time. I realize at some point he is rocking me softly. I snuggle closer and sigh. I’d like to stay like this forever. Protected and loved by John. I hope I can figure out a way to obey the rules and earn this special time with him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmmmmmm, love my flogger.


	11. Something is Glowing Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John must return to Baskerville. Before their trip they have a nice discussion with Greg. 
> 
> "Look, Watson, I think we've found the damn plot!" - yeah this part is more of that than sex. Sorry.
> 
> Tags: Humiliation, heavy petting, belt spanking.

John:

He says we must return to Baskerville labs and I’m stubbornly refusing. “Tell me again why we must return to that horrible place?”

I get another one of his ‘you are an idiot’ looks but I’m just not up for correcting him this morning. I give him a steady glare. He backs away a step, looking a bit uncertain. “I told you.”

I growl and point a finger at him, “Tell me again. Justify this. I do NOT believe we MUST return to the Baskerville labs and I am NOT unless you can convince me there is no other way to handle this case.”

Now I get the resigned look he gives when he knows I can be just as stubborn as he can be. I fold my arms and regard him with a tilt of my head. Sherlock pulls out his case file and attempts to show me the same information he had shared with me earlier. I barely glance at the picture of a leaf and notes from an interview with a gardener. I’m the one who took them in the first place. I remind him of the fact, “Sherlock, I took that photo and those notes. I know that information. What I DON’T know is why we have to go back to that facility in Baskerville. It was quite an unsettling experience.”

Sherlock paces on the other side of the table, agitated but still trying to keep his cool. Lately we’ve been working on communication as a couple. I thought we’d made more progress than this but within the past day or so Sherlock has been sliding mouth first into anger. I see smoke just starting from his ears. I’ll see what I can do to calm him. He thinks the photo and notes are important; I’ll reconsider. I pick up the case file and read it again. I ask him, “It says ‘rare genetic modification’… is that why you think this leaf is important to the case? Why we have to return to that God awful scientific lab? It’s another glowing blue bunny?”

Tantrum abated for a moment, Sherlock nods and takes the case file. “Yes, John. I did further research into this type tree and it’s only use thus far has been as an additive in explosives. It stabilizes compounds for transport and if it can be engineered to grow more easily in England there would be huge benefits to the military.”

He reviews the photo silently a moment, lays the files on the table and frowns at me. “Are you truly traumatized by the thought of returning to Baskerville?”

“It certainly would be at the top of my list of places to avoid, yes.”

“You can stay at the Inn and I’ll go out to the lab on my own. I don’t mind, John. Or if you’d rather, you can stay here and we can Skype.”

He’s being so thoughtful, suspiciously so. “This morning you insisted you need my keen insight at the lab. Why the sudden change of heart? And don’t tell me it’s because that place is not my favorite.”

His grey eyes find interest in the tile floor. He sighs dramatically. I wait. He paces, I watch. Finally he comes to rest in front of the table again. He says softly, “I do want your assistance. But you do not have to go with me. I’m very sorry for the way things turned out last time…”

“When you let me run around in the room by myself thinking a monster dog was hunting me or when you tried to poison me?”

 

Another sigh. Maybe I’m being mean rubbing it in. One last thing then I’ll leave it be, “If you’d done this to me more recently I would have charred your little bum.”

There’s a very slight smile hidden at the corner of his mouth. I see it and attack before he knows what’s happening. “Smile at me will you, you impudent brat. Hold still while I kiss it off!”

I growl at him as I give chase trying to grab a rib or two. He’s squealing, dodging and laughing as he tries to protect himself under his sheet. Deliberately I step on it and watch it fall to the floor. Naked now, his hands are shifting to cover his chest then drop to cover his strong erection and rise again- not sure of where or how I’m going to touch or grab him.

“Oh,” I tease, wiggling my fingers at him, “Where is my boy the most ticklish?”

I’ve used Sherlock’s very own ploy against him. He shows me where he’s the most ticklish by responding to my question by covering it up protectively. I aim my hands for that very spot, the center of his ribs on both sides but at the last moment dive and grab his dick. His eyes pop wider and he freezes as I squeeze gently.

“Mmmm,” I tell him, licking my lips. Even years after our DISCOVERY and exploration of each other he still manages to blush. I adore this side of him. “Somebody is enjoying this game.”

“It’s a hideous game,” He tells me, raising his chin and trying to disengage his brain from sensing the state of his genitals. He’s having no luck. His cock has been well starved and is enjoying my attention.

“Hideous, hmmmm? Not bored are you, poor baby?” I purr as I stroke him into oblivion. His body arches his groin closer to me. His eyes glaze over.

“Terribly bored,” he murmurs helplessly. His body calls him a liar. 

“Well,” I say slowly. I want to really draw this out. I watch as his face flushes and his breathing catches. There’s one small detail that clues me in to when he’s about to cum… any second, then there, a twitch of a groin muscle. He’s very close. “I wouldn’t want you to be bored.”

I release him. He’s probably only one stroke away from completion. There’s instant pain on his face and profound frustration as he humps empty air. He really should know what to expect by now. He’s been on orgasm denial for over two weeks and has at least two more. If he doesn’t spontaneously combust before then.

Automatically, he grabs at himself to stroke himself to completion. I know his brain is on auto pilot but this is strictly forbidden. I slap his hand away. He whimpers and puts both hands behind his back fighting the urge as hard as he can. I decide to take a bit of mercy on him and grasp him by the chin. I guide him in for a sweet kiss; whispering around his soft lips, “Good boy. You know better than to pleasure yourself.”

*************************

 

I want to kill him. We’ve been packing which has gone -almost- without an issue. He doesn’t think I’ll need my gun this time. Remembering the damn HOUND, I tell him off and put it into the luggage anyway. Next he insists on renting a rather large vehicle for the journey which I’m perfectly fine with except I see he’s stolen Mycroft’s credit card again. I tell him to use his own. He says it comes out of the same account so why does it matter. I show him the paddle. He rents said vehicle under his own card. But the reason I want to kill him just now is that he claims to have forgotten Greg is coming over for supper. He’s insisting he needs something for the trip and is tossing on his Belstaff and heading for the door. I snatch the sleeve and halt his progress. “No, I want you here. We DISCUSSED this over a week ago. We’re going to talk with him.”

Sherlock tugs at the sleeve with irritation written in his eyes. Just a bit of anxiety there too. He huffs defensively, “I talk to him at the Yard all the time.”

“About cases, yes, Sherlock. We need to talk about the club. Where this is headed, our boundaries.”

Sherlock hands me the rest of the stiff coat and nabs his scarf instead. It’s late Autumn and he’ll need the coat. He’d rather freeze to death than wrestle me for it. I dodge around him quickly and block his escape. He grumbles at me, his temper rising, “I need shaving cream. The shops are closing soon.”

“There’s a new can in the bathroom, back of the shelf, Sherlock.”

“I don’t like that brand.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? It’s the brand you use.”

He squirms trying to get around me without actually touching me. “Not the scent I like.”

“Which is?”

“Whatever scent it is,” He assures me. He has no clue what is in the cabinet because I do the shopping.

“Silver Surf,” I tell him. He’s used the same scent since I’ve known him. He knows I’m onto him.

“I want something new,” He tries. He fakes a move to the side and I almost fall for it. He’s been a fencer in Uni but I’ve had field experience in life and death situations. I can move just as quickly.

I shake my head at him and manage to get both my arms around his waist. Pushing urgently at me, he frets a moment then goes limp in my embrace. I reassure him, “Its ok. We need to do this. I’ll only set boundaries we are both comfortable with- despite what he may want. Greg knows that, ok?”

Sherlock nods his head on top of mine, silly boy. I pull back to see his face. He’s worried but not overly so. Just a case of jittery nerves. I smile at him to calm him and he nods again. He’s ok. Just to be sure he won’t rabbit when I release his waist I grasp his hand and yank him back into the sitting room.  
A moment later the front bell rings and Sherlock nearly kills himself running for the bedroom. I’ve seen him vault furniture before but in this effort he could have won the furniture jumping Olympic events. I’m certain I heard the faint click of the door locking behind him and he knows I won’t stand for this. Within moments I hear Mrs. Hudson softly calling up the stairs that Greg is on his way up and I open the door.

 

“Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.” I shout downwards. Greg is halfway up. I step out of the flat and softly pull the door closed behind me. Greg seems puzzled.  
I explain quickly and quietly, “He’s in a bit of a panic, Greg. I’m glad you picked up Indian for us. Maybe if we go ahead and eat, he’ll join us. It’s his favorite.”

The gentle nod of Greg’s head tells me I’m correct about him. I’ve always suspected he has a soft spot in his heart for Sherlock- despite of all the complaining he might do. Thinking back on it, Greg has been remarkably patient. If I had called down a SWAT team and half the police force for someone only to find he wasn’t in actual danger I would have murdered that person myself. I’m actually surprised that Greg never spanked Sherlock himself. I bet he was tempted on more than one occurrence to be sure.

We enter the kitchen and ignore the closed bedroom door. If his Holy Brattiness doesn’t emerge soon I’ll have to address it but I’m hoping the scent of supper will draw him out. Despite my warnings, he hadn’t eaten breakfast nor dinner so he has to be hungry. Fingers crossed.

I open every container, Greg and I chat about how great it all looks, and I nearly laugh when I see the door open a tiny bit behind Greg. It reminds me of a dog I once had that would stick a tongue under the door to get at something on the other side of it. Just needs a little more temptation…

“So did you hear Sherlock feels we need to return to Baskerville?” I ask Greg overly loud.

Greg, who was told of this fact that very morning, frowns at me and silently words, “What going on?”

I subtly point in the door’s direction and watch as Greg gets the idea. He nods then answers just as loudly, “Excuse me? That sounds very dangerous! I don’t think you should go! What does Mycroft think?”

Ha! Well done, Greg! Easily baited at the mention of his brother having a say in anything, Sherlock breezes in and takes a seat. He’s trying to pretend he hasn’t been listening this whole time.

“Oh, hello. Didn’t know you were here already,” He states, glancing at me as if to indicate I hadn’t told him. He takes a helping of food. “What does Mycroft think of what?”

Greg simply shrugs and changes the topic, “Doesn’t matter really. I’m sure he doesn’t have a say in your affairs. So did you two pack for the trip?”

I nod grinning at him. He’s maneuvered Sherlock and I’m impressed that they both seem to be on speaking terms. With those two one can never tell. It’s usually Sherlock that clams up for a few days, refusing to say anything to Greg but on occasion Greg himself has told me he needs vacation hours away from his consulting detective. Today is looking like it might pan out successfully. I say, “Yes, we’ve just completed it. We’ll hit the road early in the morning.”

“Better you than me, John. I NEVER want to return.”

Sherlock, mouth half full, smirks. “John isn’t scared. Are you, John?”

I level my fork at him and remind him, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

 

Greg and my boy chuckle at this. They know even if I am scared- which I am NOT- I’ll charge straight in and kick butts on anything that so much as breaths at me or Sherlock wrong. They also know I don’t want to talk about it.

*************

Leftovers are in the refrigerator for Greg to take home. The kitchen is wiped down, dishes away. The flat is ready for a long weekend with nobody at home. Nothing to do now but talk.

Sherlock has chosen to sit in my chair as Greg and I take up spaces on the sofa. He looks rabbity again, uncertain and prone to flight. I’m seriously thinking I might need to tie him down. It gives me a good idea; well hopefully a good idea. It might actually cause the flight though. I’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

“Sherlock, I need you to listen a moment. Good, look at me…” I say to my boy who tries to look at me for a total of three seconds then his grey eyes dart back to the floor. “Try again. Good.”

He’s fighting so hard to steady his gaze. I’m afraid he’s going to cry any second. I need his focus. Only one way to get it. I command him, “Kneel by my feet.”  
There’s a second of shock. He glances towards Greg without really looking at him but when I point to the floor he slides into position without any comment. He lays his head in my lap and gently I soothe his hair back from his face. He’s a lot calmer already.

“Greg, I thought it would be a good idea for us to discuss the situation at the club; see what might become of this.”

Greg’s eyes are bright with interest. He’s never seen Sherlock and I interact in this manner outside the club. Professionally I usually follow Sherlock’s lead. He takes a sip of water and nods. “I agree, John.”

“Ok, first, I suppose I should just say it. We are committed fully to each other. I won’t let anyone else take him sexually and I am certainly never going to be with anyone else in that manner.” I explain.

Greg affirms, “I’m committed to someone too. I’m glad to hear you say that. I’m not comfortable having intercourse with anyone else.”

Sherlock lifts his head and pegs Greg with a hard deducing stare. Greg doesn’t even flinch. He’s seen it enough times to know not to get too defensive. If your shields go up too quickly, Sherlock hones in for the kill. Leave them down but guarded, Sherlock might lose interest quickly. Sherlock squints at him and asks, “Committed to whom?”

“Someone at the club. That’s all you need to know and I ask that you please do not deduce any farther than that, Sherlock.”

“A man, obviously,” Sherlock remarks. When I tug his hair to remind him of his place, he adds quietly, before putting his head back onto my lap, “He’s wearing his watch face downwards now and…”

Another tug. He grumbles into my leg but finally obeys me by being silent. I pat him on the head. “So we agree, no sexual intercourse.”

 

“What if it’s something I want, um, later?” I hear a whisper from my boy.

Greg looks a little startled but I shrug at him. Sherlock wants some reassurance.

“You and I have discussed it before. It’s in the contract. It’s not changing. You are MINE!” I declare. Sherlock gazes up at me silently then affirms his consent with a sly smile. He never intends to question my loyalty to him.

“I really enjoy you watching us, taking part in sessions. Sherlock likes it too although he’d never admit that.” I tell Greg.

Greg replies, legs easing open at the knees, “He’s super FUCKING hot to watch, John. I love the way he does what you tell him even though it humiliates him.”

“Mmmm, yes, I love the way he blushes and hardens at the same time,” I reflect. Sherlock is wiggling a little on my lap, getting turned on probably by us talking about him. Might as well feed my boy what he needs. “Call him over, Greg. He’s putting my legs to sleep.”

A very slight whisper of a moan from Sherlock. Greg actually pats his leg for a dog and whistles. I’m trying to sip my tea and suddenly I’m struggling to keep it from coming out my nose I’m laughing so hard. Greg’s handling of his fist real command to Sherlock is perfect. Not ordering Sherlock as a Dom might but being firm and playful with it; letting Sherlock explore this new dimension without shutting him down. Sherlock slides his head off my lap with an absolute TRAGIC look, hangs it down low to the floor and sidles in Greg’s direction very slowly. Greg and I are grinning at each other. Poor Sherlock. Finally, Sherlock reaches Greg, lifts his head and places it on Greg’s lap. He sighs to let us know he is sadly mortified.

Greg strokes his head, softly crooning, “Good boy.”

I give my boy several minutes to adjust then I amp it up again, “Would be better if he were naked, don’t you think, Greg?”

Sherlock twitches a bit but is waiting silently. Greg frowns and looks over Sherlock’s clothed, kneeling form.

“Yes, I think it would be a better view.” He says in agreement.

I nod and indicate that Greg may order Sherlock himself. He barks out sharply, “Rise, strip naked for us, boy.”

At the club is one thing, here in our flat is another. Sherlock may not want to obey. I rise and stand behind my boy. There’s a moment where I think he may argue or question the order then it passes and he rises. I embrace him and rub his chest gently as he faces Greg. His hands are trembling slightly as he starts to unbutton his shirt. I see that his face is hot and red. I squeeze him to remind him I am still here. He murmurs his thanks and continues to loosen clothing. I take his shirt from him, lay it over the chair then run my hand over the fading whip marks on his back. He marks so beautifully. 

 

“He’s gorgeous,” Greg tells me. He’s acting so casually as though we are talking about a fine race horse. Very gently, he raises a hand and strokes over Sherlock’s chest. A deep shiver runs through my boy and electrifies my groin. This has to be one of the most difficult things he’s ever done.

“He’s put on more weight,” I tell Greg. We are both slowly petting Sherlock’s soft, pale skin. “It looks good on him, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Greg replies, caressing a nipple which perks up under his attention. “Needs a sunny vacation though; tan up this lovely body.”

“I was thinking about taking us down to Italy this next summer,” I remark. I can tell from the way his back is stiffening that we are pushing the banter period a little too long for Sherlock. I grab his ass with both hands giving him a hard squeeze. “Right, boy, off with the trousers.”

This revives him. Sherlock unfastens his dress trousers, slides them down and steps out of them carefully with my hand under his elbow to steady him. There’s an impressive tent in the tight red underpants. Greg licks his lips when he see it. He chuckles at me, “Well, I think he’s enjoying this.”

I walk around in front of Sherlock and take a look for myself. The red underpants are straining to keep his erection under control. I take a position tight against Sherlock’s side and invite Greg to stand on the other side. With just a look from me he seems to understand I want him to mirror me. As I run one hand down Sherlock’s inner thigh, barely nudging his cock, Greg follows suit at the same time with his hand tracing the same path across from me. The sounds coming out of Sherlock’s panting mouth nearly drive me insane. I slide my fingers under the band and wait until Greg’s join me then together we pull his underpants down halfway. I arrange his cock so that it is trapped by the band to stand against his belly. Together, Greg and I stroke his inner thighs and ball sack still under the cover of his underpants then trail our fingers across his stomach. We touch everything except his dripping cock. His eyes are glazed.

“Mmmm, Greg, I’ll let you in on Sherlock’s secret fetish,” I chuckle and then correct myself, “One of many actually.”

“Oh?” Greg answers, his eyebrows lifting in interest.

Sherlock is enjoying our heavy petting and I know he’s so aroused it’s like I’ve put cotton in his ears. I pinch his nose, hard, and yank him off balance. With a grunt he steps forward and wakes up a bit. “Lay down on the sofa, Sherlock. Let’s show Greg how much you LOVE being bitten.”

Sherlock gives me an uncertain look and I grasp his hand, halting his movement towards the sofa looking him in the eyes, “Green, baby? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

“Give me a second,” he whispers.

Greg strokes his shoulder and reminds him, “You are John’s, Sherlock. I’ll just watch. Ok?”

Sherlock actually looks grateful and I wish I could get a picture of this for its historical value. He responds, “Thank you, Greg. That helps.”

Sherlock nods to me that he is ready and after I release his hand he slides onto his back onto the couch. I crouch by his side and rub his leg a few minutes until his breathing steadies. If Greg wasn’t here I know my boy would have his legs spread wide, head thrown back and muffling his cries of pain and ecstasy with a knuckle in his mouth. I just have to work a little harder to get him there this time with someone watching us.

I push his legs apart and lean in to lap my tongue against the bit of rigid flesh peeking out over the band of elastic. Sherlock wiggles deliciously beneath me as I breathe in his scent of arousal. He shudders softly as I mouth him through the fabric. Gripping his waist band I slide his underpants free and his glorious cock springs forward, hard and oozing out drops of clear fluid. I shift him so that his legs fall over my shoulders and take his ball sack into my mouth. Bucking upwards he encourages me to take the sensitive skin and clamp down. His hips freeze in place and he lets out such a lovely whimper of anticipation that I just hold it there, threatening him with destruction. As my teeth start to add pressure my poor boy hisses in pain. His hand lands a moment on my head and I growl at him. Quickly he removes it. Only his safe word will stop me.

The first bite is really more of a nip. Its short sharp pain is over quickly and I’ve moved on to a new spot, his inner thigh. This close to his skin I can see a faint outline of where I’ve bitten previously. I launch hard into it, applying suction along with my bite. His reaction is immediate. His head rolls back and he grunts with his jaws tightly locked. I lick at the marks left behind. Not bad for the first bite of the day. I snarl and plant a vicious bite to the other side to the very soft flesh near his balls. He howls and bucks beneath me.

I slap at his cock and hiss at him, “Hush, you know better than that! No noise in the flat.”

Greg behind me murmurs beneath his breath. I’m sure he’s highly aroused. I know I am and I just started. I look back over my shoulder at him and ask, “Could you put your hand over his mouth, please, Greg? He’s being so noisy today.”

Greg obliges by sliding in next to Sherlock, left hand slipping behind his head, the other covering his mouth firmly.

“His safety signal is rapid blinks, Greg. If he uses it or you think he needs a break, you can let him go, ok?”

Greg nods and Sherlock blinks once for yes for my benefit too. He seems to appreciate the assistance to stay quiet for me. As loud as he can get, I know he does love the attention my mouth and teeth are giving to his crotch. I return to his ball sack and sip in a bit of flesh, I bite harder than before. Sherlock moans into Greg’s hand, his eyes watery. In this manner I move around to new spots on his balls, his inner thighs and now with many areas marred by marks, I will solely work on his cock. For that I need to be fully in control over his thrusting, bucking hips. I glance up into his eyes which now are full of tears. His face is drenched in sweat and each breath to steady himself comes through his nose above Greg’s hand. He blinks once. He’s ok. He knows what is coming.

I lean forward pressing his hips down with my arms and grip his dripping cock firmly. It can’t escape. I lick under the head teasing him but I don’t do this for long. He’s too close and he’s under orgasm denial still. My teeth grip at the skin around the head, pulling it from the hard core beneath it. It doesn’t take much pressure to break the skin so I’m very careful. But even the slightest bite here can cause sharp pain. Plus there’s the whole fear factor. Sherlock’s eyes widen as I stare up at him possessively, his cock trapped in my teeth. I bite, he groans deeply under Greg’s hand. The tears slide down his cheek. He’s so beautiful this way. Mine to torture or to show mercy to. Well, I’m not in a very merciful mood. I release his skin only to take up more slightly below the first. As I deliver the bite Sherlock struggles in earnest to free himself. 

“Let him talk to me, ok, Greg?”

Greg drops his hand immediately. I notice right away that it falls onto his lap and is rubbing at the distinct tent in his pant.

Sherlock licks his lips and mumbles, “Thank you, John. I’m sorry, may I please have a break?”

“Certainly, baby, maybe that’s enough biting today.”

He looks uncertain. I add, “I know you can take a lot more but honestly, you’ll need to drive tomorrow. No need in torturing you before this trip. You’ll need to be focused on evidence not on your aching dick.”

Greg jerks a bit at this, suddenly remembering something by the look of light coming into his eyes. He chuckles into Sherlock’s ear, “Last October when you were so distracted at that crime scene… the old fellow with the dead fish in his mouth… you kept moving around stiffly, said it was cramps in your legs. Were you suffering from fresh bite marks?”

My laugh confirms it for him. Sherlock turns such a lovely lobster red but manages almost a shy giggle.

“You two are kinky, I’ll tell you that right now!”

“Greg, now to be fair, we WERE on vacation, remember? You called us in just for that interesting crime scene with that exploded fish tank.”

“You slipped on a gold fish and ended up on your ass with fish guts on your shoes. I’ve never seen you look so green.” Greg adds helpfully looking right at me with sparkling eyes.

Sherlock grins at me in a goofy way. He taps his head to let me know –ONCE AGAIN- that he has that moment in a special place in his Mind Palace. So much for needing to be worried about him. He’s recovered quickly.

Shifting gears, Greg’s remarks spark a memory of my own from that day. I add, “There was a moment that day where Sherlock was blasting you about something and I’m pretty sure you looked like you wanted to throttle him or maybe… drop him over your leg for a good, hard thrashing.”

Greg nods. There’s a deep sigh from Sherlock who must obviously sense where this is going. He lets his head fall back onto Greg’s shoulder. He says, “May I humbly apologize for my rude behavior that day, Greg?”

I’m glad to see Greg shake his head and tell him mercilessly, “Too late for that now, dear boy. Take your place over that chair arm.”

Sherlock’s lean body laying over the sofa chair and exposing his lovely ass is a sight that drives electric shocks through my body. I want him so badly that I have to grit my teeth. I’m not ready- and I’m not certain Sherlock will ever be- to share with anyone our most intimate acts of our love for each other. I stroke his ass and I swear he’s purring. “Take off your belt, Greg. We’ll double team this.”

 

Sherlock shivers as we slide our belts through the loops and off. It is a delicious, powerful sound. I get goose bumps but to be honest, I’m glad it’s not me on the receiving end. I pat my boy’s rump and tell him to be good for us. There’s a slight murmur of agreement from under a pillow where Sherlock has planted his face in preparation.

“Let’s each give him ten, taking turns,” I suggest to Greg.

The first blow lands from Greg, splatting across Sherlock’s white ass and leaving behind a pretty pink ribbon of flesh. My belt strikes just a bit lower and catches the soft curve of his bum. It’s my absolute favorite place to spank; it’s sensitive and stays marked the longest. Two more twin marks join the first. Sherlock wiggles for us and gives us a nice target as he rises to his toes. He isn’t making any sound though I know it has to be really smarting already. 

Smack! Smack! Resounds loudly through the flat. It’s followed by a cute little dance of Sherlock’s feet drumming the floor and a yelping sound into the pillow.

Two more double strikes, this time to his thighs, and Sherlock stands and throws his hands behind him to rub his smoking ass. I shove him back over the sofa arm and press down on his shoulders. I angrily reprimand him, “You are not finished! That was only eight. I’m afraid you’ve earned more!”

I choose to ignore the faint, pillow covered apology.

“How many more?” Greg asks.

I smirk at him. “Until we get tired or bored. He KNOWS better than to move and embarrass me like that!”

We begin to apply stripe after stripe to his quickly reddening ass and thighs. He’s locked his head in his pillow and is moaning each time. Greg has good control over his timing and it’s a pleasure carrying this out with another experienced person.

“So now that he’s preoccupied, Greg, mind if I ask you a more personal question?”

Greg shrugs. It throws his timing off just a bit and our belts land at the same time one just below the other. The yelp that follows it is loud.

“Put your head back down, NOW!”

Sherlock reburies his head to muffle his whimpers and crying sobs. I know exactly how much he can take and we still have a ways to go. We continue to swing our belts at his tomato red ass as he shifts about trying to avoid us in vain.

“This MAY be a strange question, ok? So if you don’t want to answer it, that’s fine.”

“Shoot,” Greg says. He delivers a nasty, hard blow to Sherlock’s sit spots. He grins as he watches the reaction his belt is having. I can see he’s really enjoying punishing his consulting detective. He’s probably waited a long time for this.

 

“Alright, well, I’m curious… with your partner, are you dominant or submissive? I hope that’s not rude.”

 

Greg barks a laugh, “That’s ok, John. When I first met you- and knowing Sherlock is a real ass- I thought maybe you’d be really submissive to him. The first two days I think you were.”

His swing catches Sherlock across the sit spots and there’s a sobbing whimper. I deliver my smack to the same location a moment later.

“Yes, two days and then I wanted to kill him.” I remark.

“You lasted about 47 hours and 59 minutes longer than most, John.”

“So you are dominant?”

Another chuckle from my friend. He shakes his head. “Submissive.”

“Seriously? I’d never guess it the way you handle the belt.”

Greg grins and answers, “I know how it feels and how my ass looks afterwards. It’s helpful to understand the submissive side of things.”

I nod. “I test things out on myself to be sure I know the effects. So you don’t mind helping me with Sherlock?”

He brings the belt down hard over my boy’s scorched bottom and rubs at the bulge in his trousers. “Help get this brat under control? Any day. Just call or text!”

Sherlock is yelping now, sobbing into the pillow and no longer struggling against us. He’s a well punished young man; no longer capable of resisting. I indicate Greg to stop and then we rub our hands over his ass. It’s burning hot to the touch and softly whimpering, Sherlock squeezes the pillow to death in his hands. Slowly he calms down enough to look back over his shoulder at me. His eyes are glassy and wet.

“It’s ok, come over to the sofa with me and kneel at my feet,” I say quietly. I assist him to stand up and guide him to the sofa. I take a seat and Sherlock eases down to the floor with a loud hiss of complaint. Finally he settles with his head on my lap, his face turned to look at me with a dazed expression. I push his hair back from his sweaty brow and leave my hand resting softly on it.

Greg takes a seat next to me, taking a deep long sip of water. We’re both exhausted.

“I guess we have a clearer picture now. We’re working together to help you, baby. Does that make sense?” I inquire of Sherlock. There’s no immediate answer. One blue grey eye is regarding me silently, his face finally lifts off my knee and now I’m getting the effect of his full gaze. I’m always mesmerized by his color shifting eyes. He blinks once.

“Too tired to talk?” Another blink followed by a slow, tired release of breath. He lays his head back down, eyes closing.

Greg stands and remarks as he shifts into his jacket, “I need to get back home, John. Thank you for the lovely evening. And when he wakes up tell Sherlock that he did great tonight.”

 

“Oh yes, I will, Greg. I’m sure we’ll be in touch about the case over the weekend.”

 

“Ha. Baskerville. Again, better you than me John. That place gives me the willies. Goodnight.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooOOOOOOOO

Ugh. I hate this place. The lab is exactly as I remember it, spooky. I’m fighting hard not to hyperventilate. The scientists seem to be a new batch; the director a young man with strange silver eyes. It doesn’t help my mood much to think maybe the guy is a damn vampire or something. I keep my eyes peeled for trouble. It doesn’t take long for Sherlock to find it.

“What’s this substance, Doctor Westlake?” He asks AFTER he picks up, with his BARE hands, the strangely glowing orb on a lab table. Its blue eerie hue reminds me of the rabbit aptly named Blue Belle.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t touch that. It’s covered in a new topical application product we are working on. It’s non-toxic, Dr. Watson, I see you are concerned for Mr. Holmes. He’ll just have to wash up with a special gel later. I’d let him go do it now but as the gel gets freezing cold, it might take him quite a while. It’s not harming you, Mr. Holmes. It may leave behind residue on other things so please do remain hands off for the trip down to Dr. Holister’s lab.” Dr. Westlake explains. He doesn’t seem overly concerned that Sherlock’s hands are glowing. As we move away from the shadowy area around the table and enter back under the direct lab lights again, there is no more glow, not even a hint Sherlock has anything on his hands.

“Yes, PLEASE refrain from touching anything else, MR. HOLMES,” I growl at him. Sherlock just shrugs and proceeds to ignore me.

“So this Doctor Holister, been here long?” Sherlock asks. “Works with different species of trees?”

“Been here about six months, very nice woman… loves trees, I guess I could say… I’m almost certain I’ve seen her working with the species you showed me.”

We arrive at the door that reads Arboretum and enter into a forest within a building. I stop in the door’s threshold, behind me a typical lab, in front of me Brazil perhaps. 

“Wow,” I exclaim. Even Sherlock appears speechless.

“Yes, indeed. Plant pharmaceuticals is BIG money. Lots of military applications too as I’m sure you are aware. Ah there she is! Dr. Holister, this is Mr. Holmes, a Consulting Detective and his colleague, Dr. Watson. I told you they were visiting about a curious leaf they found at a crime scene.”

 

The very young lady that looks to be about twelve years old lifts her eye protection goggles and regards us with large, crystal blue eyes. At some point in private I’ll have to ask Sherlock if he finds these scientists to have very odd eyes.

She blinks rapidly at the photo Sherlock shows her. Her voice is remarkably mature so I guess she’s not as young as she looks. “Yes, that’s one of the species we work with. Shows high yield of a compound needed for transporting volatile chemicals under the right conditions. Unfortunately right now it’s a very sensitive species. Sheds lots of these leaves when stressed.”

Sherlock looks to me to note her response. “So it is possible that leaf got picked up in this lab somehow and dropped off in London?”

Her blue eyes seem to sparkle at him. Lord, he’s a good looking man. I’m always having to ward off the ‘Sherlock uninitiated’- men and woman alike- until they know him better and that chases off their fanciful daydreams of being with him.

“I’d say that’s highly probable. Those leaves get everywhere. And before you ask, I know for certain it’s from this lab. Ours have tiny soft thorns underneath and in the wild there are no such thorns. We engineered them in ours in hopes they would be able to fend off herbivores like rabbits with no interference from people.”

“Has anyone from this lab been to London recently?” I ask.

Dr. Holister nods and hands us a staff list. Several names are marked as on leave. Two are also labeled as science techs from this lab. “I believe Jeff Harms and Robby Swain are from London. I could be mistaken though. They are both on leave currently.”

“Thank you, Doctor, you’ve been most helpful,” Sherlock leaves her still ogling his body as I follow him out.

In the hallway he asks, “John, can you contact Lestrade and ask him to track down our vacationing techs? I need to get a shower and wash this stuff off my hands. It’s beginning to burn.”

“Yup,” I tell him, grinning. I chuck him on the shoulder. I’m happy to be leaving this lab. “I’ll meet you back in the room at the Inn, say an hour or so. I want some tea. You’ve got the removal gel?”

“Got it,” He says showing me the small bottle of green goo. “Take your time, it may take me some effort to get this stuff off.”

*************************

Having had a lovely, quiet cup of tea in a garden and a short, easy call to Greg, an hour after we leave the lab I finally pocket my phone, open our room door and find every light and lamp turned on but no sign Sherlock has ever left the bathroom. Frowning I call out to Sherlock, “Greg says he’ll have information on those lab techs for you shortly. We can pick it up on Monday. Hey, are you listening?”

“Yes, John, thanks,” A voice states from the loo.

Hmmmm, what is he doing in there? I check the door and find it locked. “Open the door.”

 

“I’m fine, just washing my hands, John.”

Uh Huh. “Why is the door locked, young man?”

“Um,” A short hesitation followed by a ridiculous lie any fibbing five year old would be proud of, “Is it? Guess I did that automatically.”

“OPEN it at once!” I bark.

“My hands are wet,” He complains.

“One! Two...”I snap back in response. There are hurried movements behind the door.

The door lock clicks softly. I swing it open and glare at him. He’s naked and completely wet; the floor in a similar disastrous state. He tries to act nonchalant.

“Did you find tea?” He asks. When I frown he quickly adds, “I took another shower.”

I indicate the drenched bathroom. “Looks like you almost drowned. Why was the door locked?”

He looks at the floor, the walls, and the ceiling- everywhere but at his angry Dom. Very telling behavior. I step into the mess, being mindful not to slip and place one hand under his chin and the other cupping his balls. Pretty hard to lie when your jewels are resting in someone’s grip. His eyes finally meet mine, sorrow filled. He’s feeling really guilty.

“Tell me what you did,” I say gruffly.

His eyes shift away again and I wait him out. “I dunno,” He whispers.

Instantly I know I am addressing a naughty little boy. “Did you wank off?”

A slight nod, his eyes getting large as I narrow mine angrily.

I squeeze his chin, then drop that hand to poke him hard in the chest and tell him, “Well, you can start your orgasm denial period again. You have another month added to the one you failed to complete. How many months will you be on orgasm denial?”

“Two is too long, John! I didn’t even make it a month!” He whines pathetically.

“Three now for whining about it.”

He whimpers pathetically, sensibly not arguing back and covers his face. In the shadow under his fingers I see his skin is glowing.

I turn to the doorway and turn off the lights. There’s something glowing brightly blue and it’s definitely ------NOT a rabbit. It’s standing at half-mast and saluting me.

“That’s why you were so desperate to wash it off---- before I could see it!”

“Please stop laughing, John. I used up all that gel they gave me and I cannot get this stuff off my dick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glowing blue thingy? I cracked up. Somehow I can SEE him really doing this.


	12. John's Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's -ahem- dick is still glowing. No removal gel available. What to do? (Stop laughing, John).
> 
> A 'chat' in the car ride home.
> 
> Seriously fun military kink scene. Aww the boots... drool. Turns a little serious at the end.
> 
> Tags: Verbal humiliation, beating into submission, boot licking, ice cream fetish (seriously, stop laughing now, John).

Sherlock:

“Hold still,” John growls at me. His hand has a very firm grip around my cock, fingers biting in as he scrubs me with the other hand. I try my best to still my movement but God it’s hurting. This isn’t fun hurt in any shape or form.

“It hurts,” I whine as he continues. I try pushing his arm away but he slaps at my hands. He is very irritated with me, growling and snapping every time I wiggle or complain. Not only is my cock now squeaky clean but it is red and still GLOWING. “It’s not coming off! I already scrubbed it as much as I could! We need more of that gel they gave me.”

To my immense relief he throws the washcloth down into the sink and releases my throbbing dick finally. I grab at it and message it. As the blood roars back in, the pain increases and my raw cock decides to inflate for John’s attention. I groan as the pins and needles blanket it, bringing tears to my eyes.  
“You DO NOT have any more of the gel. Stop rubbing yourself. Perhaps NOW you’ll think before you leap.”

Too late, I couldn’t stop the dramatic sigh, eye roll or usual snarky bitch comment, “Can you please stop the pedantic lecture, John?” 

I realized my error just a second too late. My ass clenched at his look. John was obviously already angry, tired and frustrated. Now I’d thrown petrol on an already blazing fire. There was going to be an explosion.

When he calmly turns away from me, leaving me alone in the bathroom, I am confused. No irate finger jabs? Not even any shouting or threats?

“John?” I ask, worried. I follow him. My heart is pounding. I suddenly feel very afraid- not of my John being angry- but of finally pushing him too far, losing him. “I apologize. Please don’t go.”

He is putting on his jacket and stops. Not even facing me, he says, “Sherlock, I’m very angry right now. I need some air. Please call the lab and see if there is anyone there to give some advice. I’d rather not have to stay here this whole weekend before we can pick up new gel on Monday.”

He walks out, the door shuddering behind him from the firm closure- not quite a slam but close. I know he’s still in control of himself even if it’s just barely. When he leaves the room he seems to take all the oxygen with him. I feel faint. 

I drop onto the bed wondering- ok yes, a bit sorry for myself- how I’ve managed to fuck up things so damn easily. The slightly dingy ceiling doesn’t have any answers for me. I close my eyes to ward off the impending headache and tuck my steepled fingers beneath my chin. I descend quickly into my Mind Palace, not even daring to stop on the floor that contains all my favorite memories of John in fear they will deepen my sadness and impede my progress. 

 

Somewhere in this room… the glowing object on the desk. The one I SHOULD NOT have touched. In my mind I pick it up again and examine it. It is an orb about ten centimeters in diameter, glowing the familiar light blue. I observe the cabinet it is resting on more carefully. There are other objects here but none of them helpful. Nothing else is glowing. I shuffle through my memory. The ‘film’ review slows down frame by frame. Now a flick of my fingers to fast forward. The Director looking at me in concern. Wait. Back up a few frames. There, I’ve just set the orb back down and I’m turning away to speak to the director. There’s a card lying next to the orb’s stand. I hadn’t bothered to read it the first time around so the image is blurred. Most people do not understand how their senses and brains work. Thankfully I know that my brain observes everything but only clearly recalls things I pay attention to. The card was seen but not read. I can read it now with extreme effort on my part. I pick up the card, allow my mind to blank out the peripheral noise of images, scents, thoughts and feelings. Just OBSERVE. The name of the scientific substance appears slowly. I don’t recognize it. I disregard this information. I press on. More scientific data. Not useful. Finally at the bottom of the card; ‘For expedient removal use appropriate gel or ice water/ sugar mixture’.

I bolt up the stairs and reenter consciousness. Sitting up quickly, I gather my trousers from the chair, toss them on and open the door. There’s an ice machine at the end of the hall. One step out of the door, I freeze. John is sitting in a chair not far away. 

He glances up at me, no longer angry, just curious. “Any luck?”

“John, I thought you went on a walk.”

“I’ve been gone nearly an hour, Sherlock. I looked in on you and you were in your Mind Palace. Did you remember something?”

I frown at him. Nearly an hour? I really need to put a clock in my Mind Palace. I point down the hall to the ice machine. “Need ice water and sugar.”

His gaze follows my hand then turns back to me. “Ice we have. Sugar though… not sure if the kitchen is still open.”

He grows quiet. I let him think. John is a profound problem solver when given time and just enough pressure. Me? I’m great at leaping before looking and causing him problems to solve. I must work on that. An eternity later he beams at me. “I have an idea. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

While I wait I gather a few towels and an extra blanket in preparation. I lay them all out on the bed to protect it. If I’m going to get scrubbed to an inch of my life in a very painful manner I might as well be lying down comfortably instead of dancing around in the bathroom. John quickly returns with a bag from the tiny convenience shop down the street. 

“Well, this should be an interesting experiment at best,” He tells me. He seems almost to be enjoying himself and suspicion overshadows my better judgement.

“It isn’t funny, John.”

“Oh, this is. They didn’t have sugar,” He answers with an actual laugh. “So I bought something very cold and sugary.”

 

He pulls out a carton. It’s Rainbow Sherbet. Orange, Raspberry and Lime to be exact in lovely shades of orange, red and green. He’s grinning like a maniac.  
“What are you intending to do? Cover it in that?”

My crazy Dom nods and says, “Yep.”

My mind reels. Surely he’s jesting. He points to the bed. Damn.

I lay down, one hand covering me from his gaze. My glowing cock already looks ridiculous; can’t imagine how it’s going to look with Rainbow Sherbet applied.

He sits next to me, pops off the lid of the container and takes a sniff. “Mmmmmm, glad they had my favorite flavor.”

“Hold on…”

“Yes, Sherlock?” His voice is already thick and his eyes focus on my hands covering my crotch. I know that look. My stomach flops as I feel those eyes burrow into my skin. I move my hands, placing them behind my head under my pillow.

“Never mind, John, got my answer.”

As he grips me I try to calm down. My cock thickens and lengthens at his touch. I’m not hungry like I was before I had released a month’s worth of tension. But it seems worse somehow knowing I’m facing a three month dry spell. Plus John is about to apply a frozen concoction to overstimulated sensitive skin and… I yelp as the sherbet is smeared onto my cockhead. My legs close quickly and I disobey the standing order of not hiding myself from John behind my hands. He pries my hand off of his and flicks my cock with strong fingers. It burns.

“Stop that! Behave! This is what happens when you get yourself into trouble, Sherlock. There ARE consequences to your actions. I know the cold hurts you. Now LIE still, legs far apart and hands under the pillow. I said NOW!”

I shudder. Slowly, glacial speed, I obey him. I know if it melts he’s going to have a big, gloppy mess. He’s right on the edge of being pissed. Two times in one night wouldn’t bode well. I finally slide my hands back in place, close my eyes and wait for the torture.

It’s so damn cold I hiss and fight the urge to beg. He’s covering the entire package, including my ball sack. My testicles flee up as close to my body as they can get. It’s hardly any protection at all. I feel the wash cloth descend and the merciless scrubbing beginning. My flesh is being frozen then burned off. I can’t help but buck and shift under his hands. He works silently. I’m thankful there’s no humiliating lecture on top of this madness.

The bed shifts and a moment later the water is running. He returns and is wiping away the melting mess. I sneak a peek just as he reaches for the lamp and turns it off. Nothing is glowing. The light snaps back on. “All gone now, baby.”

 

I relax a bit before I should. There’s something in his expression. He says, “Didn’t say I was finished. Would hate to waste this nice Sherbet.”

Oh dear. I watch him closely this time as he scoops a huge dollop of orange goo onto his hands and grasping my very hard, aching cock, applies it to the swollen cock head. It’s already warmed back up and when it touches me my brain says it’s very painful. I drop my head back onto the pillow moaning in pleasure. He dips forward and licks it off. The burning sensation of his hot tongue causes me to buck wildly upwards to stay in contact with the intense feeling. He precedes to cover me in the frozen concoction and as I struggle to keep still for him I manage for a moment to catch his gaze. He winks at me and my heart simply implodes. I see stars as the furnace of his mouth eats away every bit of the sherbet and my resolve to be mindful of my neighbors in this Inn. I don’t care who knows it but I’m going to cum soon.

He’s licking and chuckling around my thrusting cock. The sensation of his sounds is pushing me even closer.

“Please… oh God…John … PLEASE.”

He can’t start the punishment today. Please no. Mercy. He has to let me cum. Tears start dripping down my cheeks. I honestly REGRET getting into trouble, for being weak and for masturbating. I’m a big bundle of nerves and I’m begging for all I’m worth. Pleading and promising. “John! Oh God. PLEASEPLEASE! I’ll be good. Oh …”

I can’t help it. I grab his head and still his motion up and down my shaft. His mouth is a lava filled cave of intense pleasure. He lets me slide slowly out and he must enjoy the groan it tears from me because he grins like a Cheshire cat. “You may cum, boy. This is too much fun. We’ll start your three months of denial tomorrow.”

I start over the ledge at the word ‘cum’. I have no bungee cord nor parachute. This fall over the edge is going to kill me. My balls blast hard and as rope after rope of jism flings out of my body in sharp jerks from my cock, I actually scream. I’ve never cum so hard in my whole damn life. The entire time, John holds me steady leaning on my hips to pin me down. After a moment of just letting me come down from the ceiling he tells me, “Get up, we’re switching positions, boy. I think there’s just enough Sherbet left for you to have dessert too.”

I squirk my eyebrows in interest. “You want me to…”

He nods, a salacious hungry look returns my gaze. “Oh God Yes! And hurry up, the stuff is melting!”

OoooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOO

The car ride home the next morning is quiet. John stares out his window, absorbed in deep thought. Obviously, he’s contemplating what to do with me. I try to ease the gnawing sensation in my guts.

 

“John? Shall we talk?”

He looks at me as if he’s looking at an extraterrestrial with three heads. “Talk? As in, communicate something important?”

“Sarcasm is beneath you, John.”

He shrugs, “Nothing is beneath me, Sherlock, when it comes to being in a relationship with you.”

Ok, control your temper, Sherlock. Steady. Control the mouth. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with. I admit I tend to leap first, usually straight into danger, and get…you call it, moody… temperamental. I recognize that I put you under a great deal of pressure and stress.”

“Mmm hmmm,” A non-committal noise from the passenger side.

“I don’t necessarily understand WHY you get so angry but I do appreciate that you try to find a way to help me correct my behavior that hurts this…” Breathe, Sherlock. Just say the word. “Relationship.”

“You do? You appreciate my effort?” John asks quietly. No sarcasm. Just a razor edge of sadness.

“John, I appreciate you every day. You are always there. I mean it this time, I want to make this better. Tell me what I need to do. What do YOU need?”

The questioning look bores into the side of my head. He’s so damn hopeful. I have to lock this away to consider later. I swallow my pride a minute. He needs me to be very serious right now. “I’m listening. Fully 100% engaged.”

A gentle laugh, it sounds like music. “Hopefully NOT 100%. Hopefully you have your mind on the road too.”

“I do. You have 99% of my attention.” I affirm.

“I think you know, I hope you do, that I don’t want you to be something you’re not. Maybe you can’t change how you act. Stop shaking your head, you’re not listening attentively if you are thinking of excuses or counter arguments. You said you wanted to know what I need. Ok, well here it is. Again, maybe I’ve been demanding changes that are not possible or fair on you. But let’s take this slower, one thing at a time. Not generalize.”

“Seems fair,” I tell him. It’s hard to quiet down the random thoughts in my head but I tamp down on them.

He continues, his eyes focusing on the horizon. “First, at home, in private. I need you to be respectful. I’ve asked you to stay out of my things.”

“I have!”

“Yes, Sherlock, for the most part and you had a fairly decent reason for using my laptop last week. Just remember to ask. At home, we also agreed you would obey rules we developed together.” To stop my protest he raises his hand again. “I know, we’ve brought them all back online and you are doing really well. Really, there’s only one concern. I think it’s fair to ask this of you and that it shouldn’t be a real hardship… that’s your temper and mouth.”

 

I bite my lower lip. Yep. He had me there. Even now when I have said I’d listen I felt my anger just beneath the surface when I felt he was about to chastise me for something unfairly. I always feel the need to man the castle walls and launch an attack before the other side even considers attacking. I suck in a steadying breath. I can do this. I can listen. “My mouth runs faster than my brain.”

“I agree,” John says. He lays a warm hand on my arm. It feels delicious. “Maybe I can help you with that. I have an idea.”

Lovely thought. John can help me. I might not like the actual idea he has but I love the fact he still wants to think of new ways to address issues with me.  
I watch the moron in front of me slam on brakes to avoid a sheep beside the road. I slow to a crawl as I pass the creature. They sometimes seem suicidal. “You want to tell me your idea?”

“No, I think a surprise might be in order. If I can keep you from guessing…”

Offended, I grumble “I never guess, John.”

“… keep you from deducing. Bad word choice.” John finishes at the same time. “Will you try not to deduce what the surprise is? I think you’ll enjoy it and I also think it may help.”

Another sheep tries to end its life. John bumps his head as I swerve just a bit. “Sorry, John.”

“Crazy animals,” John says as he points out another not far ahead as it scrambled into the road. It reminds me of a time we were in America together and laughed about all the bugs hitting the windshield. These sheep were basically our English version of big, wooly bugs in a way. I almost giggle. His eyebrow arches at me.

“Big, wooly bugs, John.”

“So you ARE listening, right?” He asks, looking a little concerned. 

“I will NOT deduce NOR guess your idea.”

“Good, now if you are still game. Let’s talk about outside the home… working cases, being in public?”

I nod my agreement. He waits as I lay off the horn. It looks like we have passed the last of my wooly bugs and he continues, “Calling for police assistance. Not running after criminals.”

“That’s two things, John. You said we’d take them one at a time.”

“True,” John says. He releases his death grip on the door now that we’re past the sheep. “Police?”

I sigh, “Inefficient, slow, too much red tape.”

“Not the issue here, Sherlock. They have an extreme dislike of you jumping in and doing their jobs. I think it’s quite reasonable for me to require you- a civilian- to call them just like everyone else.”

“Fine.”

 

“Excuse me?” He asks, obviously taking offense at my cavalier tone.

“Yes, John. I agree I will call the police when needed.”

“I can hold you to that?”

“Yes, John.”

“Chasing down criminals?” John inquires. I try hard not to roll my eyes. He’s so damn sensitive to this.

“What if…”

“Yes or no, Sherlock. Can you TRY? For me.”

I know this is important to him. “I can try. If I fail there are is a consequence?”

He doesn’t answer me. To fill the silence I answer for him. “The consequence could be three days of very boring housework and time out plus any other tedious, time consuming activity you can think of that will bring absolute gut wrenching, soul searing- REBELLION CRUSHING- obedience to my bad little heart.”

John snorts. Such a cute sound. My little hedgehog. He’d slay me where I sit if I ever say my secret pet name for him out loud.

“Put succinctly, yes. You will BEG to be put out of your BORED existence should you disobey that one again.”

I hope I’m never tempted to test his resolve. Sundays, enforced to sit and ‘chat’ through supper, is bad enough. Then there’s that whole, new idea- spend time with family- John started demanding once a month. To be fair, he would call his sister and keep updated. In return, I had to call Mycroft. God. I’d rather spend the three days being tortured by boredom.

“Lastly, I need to trust that you will obey me. You wanted that as part of our relationship, remember?”

“Yes, John. I do obey you.”

This time the laugh is not gentle. “Ok, look… you do try. You do obey when I’ve got my EYES on you. But you are not trustworthy, Sherlock. When I am out of sight, I am out of mind. You seem to forget everything. But I think my latest idea WILL correct that too.”

I lock on him with interest but he shakes his head. No deducing. Damn it. I drive a little faster. We need to get home before I spontaneously combust from curiosity.

OOOooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOO

This isn’t what I have expected all week, at all. It’s five A.M. I just crawled into bed a half an hour ago. John had been asleep. Warm and cuddly. Spooned in behind him, one arm thrown around his waist, I had fallen deeply asleep. Now here is my Dom, in my face, shouting abuse at me and banging on a pot lid with a metal spoon. Damn good thing Mrs. Hudson is away.

 

“I said get up, sunshine, or do you need some of my help to find the fucking floor! If you do I have NO trouble at all throwing this GOD damn mattress on the floor with you on it, MISTER!”

OH FUCK. He’s in uniform. Dog tags. The whole damn, hot thing. Shit, at this moment all I can think about are the damn boots I want to lick.

I jump up and collide into him.

“Well, that wasn’t too damn smooth, Princess! You can’t stand on your own two feet?”

Shit. “No, um, sorry… it was an accident. You startled me and…”

“Shut the HELL up, BOY! Drop down onto your knees if you can’t EVEN manage to stand!”

My cock is certainly standing, rigid and waving for his attention. He swats at it hard and I yelp as I sink to my knees in front of him. My heart is thudding and as he steps in very close I think I might faint. He has my hair entwined in his fingers- I’m pretty sure they don’t allow that in the military anymore, physical punishment, but who the hell am I to argue. He yanks back on my head tilting my face to his as he leans over me. There is no doubt in my mind. John is in full control here. Make that CPT. Watson, and I’d better listen and obey.

“You’ve been a fuck up, boy! I’m going to correct you and by GOD as my witness, you’re going to learn this time EVEN if I have to BEAT it into you!”

A giggle, so soft I don’t hear myself make it as it sneaks out. I’m just excited and nervous. I’ve wanted, dreamed of this, forever.

Giggling isn’t allowed apparently. There are two items I know that were not issued with his old army uniform. Both are new. One are his lovely, black leather boots and the other, a wide black leather belt, I hear him remove. As it slides through the belt loops I tense. The giggles are gone.

“Get your FUCKING ASS up, boy. I’m sure you won’t think this is funny very long!”

Gulping, I try to talk, “Just nervous…"

“YOU. WILL. OBEY. ME.” He’s moving forward so quickly I can’t even respond. He has me by the throat, tips me backward, turtling me on the floor. His knees land either side of my arms and I just manage not to bang my head hard onto the floor. It knocks the wind out of me. My eyes are wide and I’m trying hard not to shake myself to death.

I swallow and feel my Adam’s apple nudge move tightly beneath his hand. His eyes are fire and death. I suddenly, maddingly want MY sweet John back. The one that loves and protects me. This man is frightening.

His hand very slowly tightens around my throat. It’s so subtle that when I feel the airway closing, panic overwhelms me. Tears are already seeping back into my hair. He’s pinned me perfectly. I have no choice but to surrender. My feet scrabble at the floor as fear and darkness are swirling together in my head. Finally, he eases up. I gasp and cough trying hard not to sound like a needy animal. But fighting for oxygen is primal. I’m whimpering and trying to convey in my eyes that I’ll definitely do as he says.

 

“I was hoping you had some intelligence. Maybe you can learn? If not, I might as well put you out of your miserable existence. I have no issues doing just that. Now, GET ON YOUR FUCKING HANDS AND KNEES!”

I never imagined I could move so fast. I find myself at his feet, not daring to touch the shiny boots. I’m not worthy to worship them yet. First comes punishment.

The belt hisses downwards and connects solidly. This time, handled when John is irritated, hurts immediately. There’s a nasty sting to it. Maybe my mind is adding to it because I feel guilty. I don’t know. All I know is he swinging the damn thing as hard as he can. My flesh of my ass is being torn off. I bury my head in my hands and sob. Stripe after stripe are added. I’ve lost count. Likely he isn’t counting either, just punishing, until there is clarity, until there is surrender. I can’t. I have to move, wiggle, and fight. He straddles my shoulders and locks me in place with his lower legs; the army pants rough against my naked arms. It feels like he has doubled the strap. I try to tuck myself into a ball and protect my bottom.

“Present your ass, boy! Get it back up!”

 

No way in Hell. I can’t. The beating stops only for a moment. It gives me enough time to grit my teeth and raise my ass as ordered. The belt descends again. This time at a very rapid pace. I keep my ass up for him. It’s the only way to end this. Simply surrender. A few more stripes are added to my heated sit spots. I’m crying. I hardly notice it’s over. I want John’s comforting back message but I know I’m not going to get it. Not yet.

“Correct your position, Fuck Wad or I will!”

I lift my face from the floor and straiten my body. My breaths are ragged and fast. He just stands there waiting, thankfully. 

I’m calmer finally, not sobbing. He tells me, “As I was saying, before you RUDELY disrupted me… we are going to work on obedience and respect today.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yes, CPT. Watson.” John corrects sternly.

I try to slow the breathing down just a bit more, regain control over my shaking limbs. “Yes, CPT Watson.”

There’s actually a pat to my head. It feels delicious. I’ll do anything to earn it again.

“You seem to have trouble standing today so I’m not even going to bother having you walk. Crawl in front of me into our training area. I’m sure you have enough book smarts to figure out what I mean.”

I drag my body forward; my ass must be burning like a beacon for him to follow. I hear his boots right behind me and feel his presence. The furniture has been shifted aside. There’s now a wide area, rug free, in the sitting room. Crawling around on our wooden floors is going to be excruciating after a while. I stop in the center of the area.

“Well looks like MAYBE you’re not as dumb as you seem.”

I feel like biting CPT. Watson. John never insults my intelligence. Then I want to slap my own damn forehead. He doesn’t insult me like this but I’m prone to insulting him. Damn it. I have to feel this inside. Feel the hurt of my own words thrown back at me. 

I try to gather courage. To deny his (MY) words. “I’m not dumb.”

“You are an imbecile not much more advanced than a worm, BOY. Every time you speak you lower the IQ of the neighborhood.”

Yes, my words. I hate myself for them suddenly. Especially if they hurt John like they hurt me right now. "I. AM. NOT. DUMB.”

He shifts abruptly and towers over me as he continues relentlessly, “You are an idiot. I’ll keep pointing that out if I have too since you can’t seem to get it into that thick skull of yours! A worthless, pointless waste of a human body! You must have such an easy, relaxing life with all that VACANT space in your head. You are so DULL at least you can’t possibly be bored. Only intelligent people can actually feel BORED. Oh wait, no I take that back. Funny little brains must be so boring. You poor thing. Why do you even exist for God’s sake? God’s sense of humor or meanness perhaps. You are SO stupid. Even the DEAD are cleverer than you! I envy you though, Sherlock, your brain is so unused, so placid. It must be nice not to have to actually think.”

He takes a deep breath to continue. Recognizing even the terrible tone that matches those words I have uttered to him and others, I whimper and back into his legs. Trembling I turn around, not even daring to ask permission and risking an answer in the negative. I lay my head on his boots. I feel so sick and weak. My tears wash his boots. “Please,” I beg softly. God, I’m a terrible person.

There’s silence. I know he has stored enough of my material away that he could easily go on another twenty minutes at least. My walls are down now and he accepts my surrender. 

“While you are down there, lick my boots until I tell you to stop. You can beg my forgiveness that way, with your worthless tongue. Do a good job or I’ll gag you the rest of the day and let you drool all over the floor like the imbecile you are.”

I press my tongue into the soft leather, keening like a hungry baby bird. The leather smells so good and glides smoothly beneath me. I apply it across laces, eyelets and all over the front. With the tilt of my head I clean each side in long, slow stripes. It’s calming me down and refocusing me. I can do this all day. I want to. I move to the other boot and resume the whole process.

“Do it better, Boy. Make love to them with your tongue. I can barely feel that.”

Make love to them? God, I do want that. I want to rub against them. I do only what I’m told although my hips are pumping helplessly as I apply more pressure. I push down hard along the side until I feel him close beneath the leather. I smash my nose into the leather and inhale. God, it’s way better than drugs. Lap after lap I rewet both boots. I keep it up until he steps away from me; a low pleading whine escapes my throat as the objects of my desire are now so close but untouchable again.

 

“Turn away from me. It’s time for your training,” John orders. I spin away from John so that my ass faces him. He amends, “Legs further apart.”  
I strain to obey, my legs feel like rubber already and shake slightly. He’s behind me, looming there. I try to swallow my anxiety. Why isn’t he saying anything?

“Stop thinking… deducing, Boy,” He says quietly. He picks up something from the table – it slides on the wood so perhaps rope? Surely not a leather strap- he slaps my sore ass. “Stop that at ONCE! I feel you thinking and questioning everything! I’m going to put you in your place. That’s all you need to know.”

Twice more his hand descends refreshing the fire. I fight to stay in place and accept. Both of his hands slide across my back, possessively touching and caressing, now handling my balls from behind. At the sudden touch I moan and arch my back giving him even more access. My already hungry cock responds to his attention by twitching uncontrollably. It won’t take much to toss me right off the ledge. But he only separates and ties my balls snugly, each in their own little, tight bundle. It adds a feeling of urgency and helplessness to my situation. He stands and apparently has a length of rope in his hands. He tugs upwards on my ball sack. The pressure is delicious.

“Get into pushup position. Now.”

Ugh. I hate this already. I brace on my toes and hands, my legs a bit further apart than usual. John remains behind me holding my balls by the rope in his hand. It’s an odd sensation. He pulls the rope taught so that when I drop down to the floor I’m pulling against it. It’s a sharp jolt of electricity each time I move. I’m torturing myself. I get through the first ten fairly quickly. The rope lifts up even more. In my set position the tight pull hurts, as I lower myself to the floor I grunt through the gut punch pain. The next ten take forever. Only a maniac repeatedly hurts themselves like that. Guess this means I’m crazy. I pause, waiting.

A sharp yank upward to my poor ball sack makes me cry out. I quickly bite back on the sound, gritting my teeth. Another punishing tug but this time I manage to grunt through it. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop. Give me twenty more.”

“Bastard, easy for you to say. You love doing this shit.”

GOD DAMN mouth! John moves quickly over me. He grasps my hair to keep me from escaping. I hear an implement cut through the air then feel its impact. It leaves behind a sharp snake bite sting on my ass. It’s worse than the riding crop. John snaps it down at least another half dozen times, the fire blazing across my ass. I start to curse like a sailor and fight to cover myself. Normally John would stop at this point, calm me and let me figure out what I needed to do in order to get back my ability to submit. But this is different. I feel wild, angry and desperate. I need him to stop me, control me this time. I snarl and snap at his leg. Quickly he shifts his body so that I can’t reach him. He sinks to his knees, pushing me flat under him. He pins my arms under his legs and continues hiding me. The huge bubble of angst bursts in my chest. No longer fighting, I sob from the release and pain. He soon has me whimpering and crying out beneath him, desperately trying to catch my breath. I can’t. Try to think. There is white noise. Heat. Nothing else. Just John. Me. Destruction.

 

“Red,” I finally manage to remember how to stop this. He immediately rises from my back and kneels beside me.

“Easy, Sherlock.”

He’s running his hand over my back, caressing my face, murmuring soothing words. I lean my face into his hand and rest there, gasping. He asks gently, “What do you need, baby?”

I shake my head. Still can’t really think. “A couple minutes. I’m ok. Got dizzy.”

“You take all the time you need. Do you want to stop for the day? It’s ok, I won’t be angry.”

He helps support me to sit up. I lie against his strong chest, my arm around him, and head tucked under his chin. I listen to the steady thud of his heartbeat and hold his dog tags in my hand. “I don’t want to stop for the day. I need…” I falter and pause.

I can’t think of what I need. I know what I want. I don’t know how to describe this to John. I feel like crying from frustration.

“You need me to talk?”

I give him a slight nod. I feel relief wash over me. He understands.

He tugs me in tightly, his arms wrapped around me. I just want to hear his voice. “You’re doing so well, Sherlock. You’ve really been responding to the session quite remarkably. I think the boot licking will be a very powerful motivator for you.”

He chuckles and caresses my face when I moan in desire at the memory. “Actually, I think the whole Military scene has done you some good. Except, what the Hell was that last struggle? You tried to bite me.”

Oh Hell. He’s asked a question. Sighing, I try to piece together a string of words. “It was awful; hearing my own words repeated back to me. I felt desperate. Angry. Not at you, at myself. When you kept pushing at that secret place… where I hide how I feel about myself… it burst open, John. It was ugly. It was raw inside, festering. You got me through it though. Thank you.”

He holds me and rocks me, I feel the thoughts moving slowly through his body. His hands tense hearing how I hate myself. Then relax when I confirm I’m doing better. He’s an easy read is my lovely John. “You don’t have to worry. You released and cleared the poison I think.” I tell him.

“Mmmm, I’m glad to hear that, baby. It was quite the struggle. You’ve worn me out. I’ll tell you what, let’s take a break, eat something, rehydrate you… then we’ll pick up later.”

“With more boot licking?” I ask hopeful, almost shyly.

“Oh God Yes, that was fucking hot as Hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and sherlock didn't need the break. I did. My fingers are falling off trying to type so fast.
> 
> THANK YOU for all the love and support. This is fun! And yes, Virginia, there is a plot here that will be popping up its ugly head again soon. 
> 
> But then I hear Benny and Martin wanting another role play scene so I'm jumping around to different stories. Thank you for your patience.


	13. Learning Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John amends his plans. He decides to give Sherlock a little lesson in love and self-control.
> 
> Hope Sherlock FEELS the love this time.
> 
> Tags: Biting, flogging, anal sex
> 
> Enjoy!

John:

He’s fed and rehydrated. Resting his head in my lap as I sip tea on the sofa, Sherlock seems at peace. Knowing my boy though it won’t last long. He’s gazing up at me, playing with my dog tags in his graceful, nimble fingers.

“What are you thinking about, John?” He asks me after several long, blessed moments of quiet. I rest my free arm on his belly and take another sip of tea from the cup in the other, taking my time to consider his question- his intent with the question.

“I’m thinking about you,” I tell him finally. I set my mug down on the side table and stroke his hair back from his face. His eyes narrow and he regards me very carefully. I feel every secret, every dark thought I ever had being drawn out by his look. “Stop deducing me, please. It’s unnerving.”

“WHAT are you thinking about, concerning me?” He asks, one eyebrow raising.

I tug his hair. He knows he needs to stop the intense stare if I ask. He has promised to obey. After a moment his gaze softens and a sly smile takes the place of his frown.

“Well, I hope it was dark, dirty thoughts, John.”

I smirk at him. “Actually I was thinking about how much I love you.”

He wiggles. This is sentiment. He’s uncomfortable with it. Well, too bad. I love sentiment and romance. He’s going to get a damn good dose of it. Serves him right.

“I’m going to torture you,” I tell him.

This perks his ears. He nods in agreement and gripping my hand in his, kisses the finger tips softly then nips them playfully. “Oh, please do.”

Silly boy. This isn’t going down as he is imagining, I don’t think. I’ve changed my plans at least twice today and even though the hardcore military scene is working wonders for him, I think I’m going to enjoy this next part more. He’s going to hate it for sure. This type relationship is not all about hurting the Sub. It’s about giving them what they need, not just what they want. He needs to know, truly know that he is loved, safe and wanted. Needs to know too that I’m not going anywhere. That I will protect him and guide him. No matter what he does; no matter the buttons he pushes.

“Get up, boy,” I command, rudely tipping him off my lap. He ends up on the floor with an umph. He quickly recovers and takes a position on his knees, hands tucked behind his head. He is beautiful this way. Submissive, yes certainly, but strong. He is giving himself to me. “Follow me to the spare room.”

I don’t wait for him, I walk away expecting him to crawl obediently behind me. The spare room- my old room, I think fondly, is actually my favorite play space. It’s mine. Not Sherlock’s. Everything in it I have placed here carefully. It’s like a sanctuary I suppose. If I get truly annoyed with him I can always retreat to this space for quiet. He’s taken to avoiding it, rather avoiding ME, when I’m in here alone and irritated with him. You don’t poke a bear in his den apparently.

 

I open the door and hear Sherlock shuffle in behind. I step around him as he takes his Ready Position by the bed and I close the door. I don’t bother to look at him. I know his position is perfectly executed.

Quietly I grip my dog tags, slip them over my head and proffer them to him. “You’ll need these.”

As we often use my dog tags when he is gagged, bound securely and only able to drop them to get my attention should he need to safe word out of a scene, he seems a little nervous. He’s expecting intense pain. Inwardly I laugh. He’d probably safe word right away if he knew what I really planned for him. I’m about to smother him with all the love and affection I can muster. Poor Sherlock. That’s the stuff of his nightmares, I’m sure.

He takes the dog tags in hand and holds them tightly. He swallows when he sees the hungry look I give him and a soft whine escapes his throat like a dog awaiting some attention- good or ill- from a new master.

“Hold them and only drop them in an emergency, boy. As usual I will stop to see what you need. If you use them, you’d better mean you need my attention to an EMERGENCY or that you are too overwhelmed to continue. Understood?”

“Yes, CPT. Watson, understood.”

“We are not recreating the military scene, just using the dog tags as your signal. Call me John again.”

“Yes, John.”

I indicate the bolts in the wall and he rises immediately, quickly spreads his arms outward and waits. He’s rigid with anticipation and dripping already. I place my body close to his, carefully avoiding the hungry cock, and pet his stomach just above it.

“Mmmm, this is a lovely view,” I tell him, staring deliberately downwards at his jutting need. It bobs for my attention upon hearing my words. I ignore it. 

“And these, so perky and sensitive,” I purr at him, pinching at his nipples lightly. No pain. Not this time. Just delicious pressure. He squirms under my touch. I glance into his eyes, glazed already- ready to fly away.

“Yes, you are ready, aren’t you, boy?”

His voice is far away, dreamy, “Yes, John.

Moving quickly, I get his leather cuffs on wrists and ankles. He stands perfectly still as I move each limb as I need it. The black leather is a lovely contrast to his pale skin. He grips the dog tags in his hand, ready to drop them if he must. I know him, he’s stubborn. He won’t drop them. I grip him behind the neck to get him to lean his tall frame forward so that I can secure a blindfold. While he is still in a position I can easily manage to reach, I hold the large ball gag to his mouth. He accepts it without his usual complaint about its size. I fasten it behind his head and take a step back to look at him. He’s stunning. It makes me hungry seeing him standing there so patiently and obediently. I grab an arm and tie it to the bolt in the wall, secure the other in the same manner and finally fasten a spreader bar between his ankles. He’s wide open for me, wanting to be hurt and made to fly. 

I press my body against his, sliding my hand possessively over his but never his throbbing cock. That may get my full attention, later. Right now it’s his neck that I’ll focus on. I grip his chin and tilt his head up and away from me. Pushing up on tip toes, I lay my tongue to his pulse point and apply pressure as I slide it up under his jaw. Slowly lowering myself I kiss, lick and nibble all down the side of his neck. He’s twitching and sighing as I repeat the whole process very slowly. Under my tongue I feel his heartbeat pick up speed and his breathing is being drawn in deeply. 

“This must be how a vampire feels before it sinks its fangs into its lover’s neck? Maybe I should bite, draw blood. Taste you.”

I bite down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. It’s known to be a place where animals have a patch for bonding. We are animals after all, I bite firmly but not enough to draw blood. He moans around the gag. I decide to bite again, enjoying his sounds of pain and arousal. As I bite- harder this time- I apply suction too and suck at the area as though trying to drink from him. I feel a slight tremble go through his body. As I pull away and notice tooth marks have broken the skin in a couple of place I lick at the pin pricks of blood. “Delicious, boy, but I bet your inner thigh tastes even better.”

To let him know I’m sliding downwards, I lick my way. His body shivers beneath me and as soon as I reach his hips, it’s thrust into my face. I chuckle and swat his cock. “That can wait.”

His musk is strong in my nostrils. Slowly I inhale his scent. My own cock responds hungrily to it. I’m going to indulge it needs, later. But first I’m going to build up my passion with more of Sherlock’s sounds. I place my mouth on his exposed inner thigh. I haven’t marked him here for several weeks. I need to amend that. First I kiss him gently. He wiggles at my soft touch. I whisper above his unblemished skin, “I love you and I’ll always be here for you.”

I bite hard, digging my teeth firmly into this soft spot. His grunt is loud, almost protesting. I lap at the mark and suck at it, caressing the pain away. He stops the struggle to close his legs. “Mmmmm, good, boy. You taste wonderfully aroused.”

I lick my way across his lower belly to the other thigh. I nip lightly at the area, teasing him with my teeth. “I hope you are listening closely, boy. I love you and I’ll always be here for you.” 

I know in this mesmerized state his mind is highly suggestable, easily hypnotized by voice and touch. Perfect for my plans.

I bite again, firmly and with the intent of breaking skin. As I rend his flesh he cries out, thrusting forward and freezing. To move during a bite brings more pain as you struggle. Instinct stops your movement to keep you from getting more damaged. I kiss the area until I feel him relax a little. He’s properly marked now and I know he’ll be proud of them. I stand and make my way to my cabinet. The gel I select will sanitize the area but it also stings like hell as it promotes healing. It can’t be helped. Yes, I could use the other bottle- the stuff that deadens sensation but what fun would that be. I smirk thinking about the sweet doctor I used to be. The innocent one that Sherlock corrupted with his dark needs. He’s correct, he’s awakened a monster. I pop the top and apply it to all three bonding marks. Sherlock hisses and tries to twist from my hands. “Oh now, stop, bad boy. You know this doesn’t hurt.”

Pain releases stress, cleanses the emotions and frees the mind to fly. I’m planning to help my boy by providing the pain, just enough of it. Not trying to push boundaries any further today, I select his favorite flogger from the cabinet. I let the soft leather strands caress his chest and tickle his nipples. There’s an aroused moan from behind his gag.

Stepping back, I flick it against his chest, right above his heart. The leather fronds spread out, snap against his pale skin and bring a lovely blush of soft pink. He pulls on his arms by leaning forward towards me seeking the warmth from the flogger as I continue to let it rain down upon him. He then tilts back away from it as I step in. It’s a dance between us that I really enjoy. His belly joins his chest in a deep rosy color as I add another layer. Carefully I aim around his cock and darken his thighs. His head is resting back against the wall and I add a few strokes gently to his exposed neck. He’s glowing all over like he’s been freshly scrubbed.

My hands drift across his body, smoothly sliding over his glistening, sweat covered skin, and feeling the heat emanating from him. I kiss his jaw as it clenches and unclenches around the gag, drool seeping a bit from the corners of his mouth. I push it back into its place deeper in his mouth and he groans around it. “Need a bit more?” I ask. His head dips once then again. He’s tired but assenting.

I choose to use a thin switch next. As I swish it through the air, the sound of it descending causes his muscles to tense in anticipation. It leaves a dark red line on his chest against the background blush from the flogger. I make sure I do not cross the lines as I deliver them slowly down his body. As I finish with slashes across his thighs, he’s keening softly. 

I reach up behind his head and release the gag. He simply opens his mouth and lets me remove it for him. I rub each side of his face, tug him forward by his chin and plant a gentle kiss on his lips. He licks at me as I pull away.

“Feeling good?”

“Mmmmm, uh huh,” He murmurs. He’s floating somewhere in the atmosphere. I don’t expect proper word sequencing just yet.

“I’m going to help you down and onto the bed. I’m leaving the blindfold on you for now.”

“Ohhh, ‘K,” He says as he nods enthusiastically. I grin at him. Flying on endorphins is much better than on any drug.

His arms drop to his sides as I untie him and he leans against the wall, breathing shallow and fast. I pry his hand open, take the dog tags back and place them around my neck again. He’s sweating enough to have run a marathon. I unhook the spreader bar from his ankles and embrace him around the waist. “Easy now, lean more on me and let me guide you.”

He practically crawls into my arms and I maneuver us somehow to the bed. He slides down onto the cool cover and turns onto his side facing me. I sit next to him petting his head and shushing him. I’ve never been a father but in this instance, I feel very protective of him. My boy.

“We’re going to try something, boy. You get a little crazy when I’m not right with you. I’m going to show you that you do have control. You don’t have to feel anxious when I’m not by your side. No, don’t touch the blindfold. I’m just going to step out a few minutes and I’ll be back. Just stay here and breathe. No moving.”

I slowly edge away from him, carefully observing him as I retreat. His breath hitches and his head turns towards the door seeking sounds. I tut at him and his head drops down to the pillows immediately. I back through the door and stop just at the outside, looking in. I wait and count to sixty. Sherlock is trembling ever so softly. He’s very vulnerable in this state and I need to stay close in case he panics over the loss of contact with me and his vision. I approach him again and when he hears my footsteps his muscles soften. I reward him with a kiss.

“When you are away from me I want you to say to yourself, John loves me and will never leave me.”

He whispers it to himself. 

“Good, boy. Now I’m going to be gone a few more minutes. I’m going to get a wet wash cloth from the bathroom. Remember, no moving. Just rest.”

Again I step away, going further before watching him a minute. He’s seeking me but not overtly. He’s more trusting now. I retrieve a wash cloth and wet it in the bathroom sink. Nice and warm. Should sooth his nerves even more and I’ll be able to clean off some of the dried drool from his face. Upon my return, he’s curled more into a fetal position but seems calm. He’s holding the pillow against his chest and I can hear him murmuring his new mantra. 

“Doing ok?” I ask him.

“Yes, John.”

“Not too anxious when I’m away?”

He hesitates. I sit next to him and apply the warm wash cloth to his face, wiping away tension and dried saliva marks. He sighs and wiggles his jaw.

“Well?” I urge him to answer my question.

“It’s hard. I want you here.”

I ruffle his hair, pushing back errant curls. “I know you do. I can’t always be right there with you but you know we’ll be back together soon. Right?”

A resigned sigh. “Yes, John.”

I finish cleaning his face and reviving his jaw. “Ok now, “I tell him. “Longer now. We’re going to be separated about twenty minutes. I’m going into the kitchen to get a glass of juice for you. It’s a long time I know for you to be alone, blindfolded. You might get bored. I want you to stay right here. Don’t get into any mischief. Don’t touch yourself. Just stay right here, bum on the bed. Be good.”

I don’t wait for an answer. Behind me I hear Sherlock groan and move around on the bed but I’m hoping he’ll stay put. Twenty minutes is an eternity for me to trust him. I’m probably more anxious than he is. I want him to succeed. Putting it to the back of my mind, I enter the kitchen to make myself tea and to fetch Sherlock’s juice.

He’s been quiet at least. I’m pretty sure we are not quite at twenty minutes but it won’t hurt. He’s lying sideways on the bed, feet planted on the floor. I clear my throat. He pushes the pillow away from his chest where he had it in a strangle hold and tilts his head, blindly, my direction.

“My bum is still on the bed,” He states the fact he hasn’t disobeyed.

I smirk. Cheeky. Must be feeling better. “I see that. Feet back up, please. And sit up so you can drink some of this.”

He crosses his legs on the bed, sitting with one hand extended. I don’t want juice on the bed. “Hang on, I’m taking the blindfold off of you.”

I remove it, hand him his juice and, still standing in front of him, drink my tea. He normally fusses about having to consume anything. This time he chugs it down and licks his lips. I take his glass and my mug to the night table and set them down. I turn to him and push at his shoulder. Surprised, he flops back and throws me a seductive stare.

“Do you know what you do to me?” I inquire.

He shrugs innocently and bites his lip. Ha! Some virgin. He asks, smirking, “What. I. Do. To. You?”

I clamber across his body and kneel with my legs on either side of his chest. Looking down at him I make sure to be serious- glaring. “Yes, what YOU do to me! You drive me wild with desire. YOU seduce me! You push every button you can!”

Mr. Pure as Driven Snow widens his eyes in shock. “I do?”

“I’m going to fuck that stupid grin off your face, boy!” I growl. He licks his lips. Damn him. “Turn over and offer your tight hole to me!”

“You’re a beast,” he chuckles. I move to the side and allow him to turn over. He rises to his hands and knees, wiggling his backside at me.

“You started this, remember?” I tell him, slapping his pale ass. There’s a nice hand print left behind. I grab the bottle of lube from the night stand, pop the top and dribble some over his hole. I unfasten my uniform bottom, slide out of them and discard it over the side of the bed. Taking a bit on my fingers, I coat my jutting cock. I don’t wait to prep him. I take my place behind him, push against his hole and enter him steadily in one go. He grunts as he’s opened and he allows his head to drop to the bed. “Ah God, you feel fucking wonderful.”

I pull out, shove his shoulders to the mattress and start a fast pace, grinding into him. He’s groaning to my rhythm and this pushes me further. “Lay flat,” I order him, pushing so that he has no other choice except to lay prone under me. My cock stabs him repeatedly. The sounds issuing from his mouth are sending waves of heat like a continuous feedback loop. I grasp his head, pinning him and latch onto his earlobe sucking and biting. He’s wiggling and struggling to pull his head away from my control as I pound mercilessly into him. He’s close and maybe the dry humping he’s getting on the bed will be enough to send him over the ledge. I doubt it. I don’t care. If he comes, he’s disobeying. I’ll cane him for it. I’m sure he’s keeping that in mind. He’ll have to fight it off, willfully.

I turn my attention back to his shoulder- the one I had bitten earlier. I apply my teeth to it again and snarl. God his ass is so hot, so tight… squeezing me, I can’t think. Just fuck until a white light nearly blinds me. The pleasure is intense. I ride with it a few minutes. I hear him begging as my head starts to clear. He’s so close. He probably only needs a stroke or two against the bed to achieve orgasm.

“No, absolutely not. You are on a three month Orgasm Denial, boy.”

He whimpers beneath me but I pull out of him, telling him to get to his feet. I see his cock was indeed very close to succumbing to the lovely pressure against the bed. I slap at it sending a string of precum to the floor. His protest grunt makes me grin at him seditiously. “Poor boy. Maybe next time you’ll behave yourself.”

An under the breath grumble makes me slap his cock again. 

“What was that?”

“I said Yes, John.”

“Hmmm,” I arch an eyebrow at him and tilt my head. “That’s what I thought. Now get down on the floor and lick my boots. Do a good job or I’ll find my cane. Get a move on!”

He slides from the bed to the floor right in front of me, submissively tucking his head between my feet as he laps at one. He’s being very attentive to every inch. I chuckle. He was born to this. I feel his tongue press hard on the instep, swipe across the top, over laces and down the other side. When one is completed he moves on to the other. The entire time he is softly whining in passion and need. When I have had enough of this attention I step away from him. Immediately he drops his forehead to the floor.

“What do you have to say to me?” I inquire, adding just a touch of impatience to my tone.

Shivering, he answers, “Thank you, John, for the privilege of loving your boots.”

“A bit slow, young man but you are welcome.”

“They taste so good…”

“If you please me perhaps I’ll let you worship them again. For now, get into the shower. When you are finished please meet me in the sitting room. In your sleep pants is fine.”

He turns from me, yawning. I grab his wrist, spinning him to face me again. I plant a kiss on his lips which he gratefully accepts. As I move away from him I tell him, “And NO wanking, Sherlock. You would not want the SEVERE consequences that would bring.”

************************

Refreshed by the shower, but sleepy now, Sherlock soon joins me on the sofa. His hair is disheveled and he looks young, innocent even. I try not to laugh at the thought. I can see his cock clearly outlined by the fabric, half-hard. He’s obeyed me. I grin at him and pat my lap. He lays back, head resting on my knees.

“That was… I can’t think… nice,” He tells me.

“Nice? That’s the best word you can come up with?”

“Yes, John, at the moment. My brain is not fully engaged.”

I stroke his cheek. “I have one final thing I want you to do, ok? In your Mind Palace.”

 

He crinkles his nose at me, his eyes sparkling grey then grey-blue. Anything to do with his Mind Palace, he’s curious and engaged.

“Close your eyes. Good, now stand outside the door. Ready?”

His hands tuck up into the usual position and he nods.

“Get a can of spray paint, any color you prefer. Do you have it?”

“Yes, John.”

“Now write in large letters, once in every room, John loves me and will never leave me. Understood?”

A sigh, light and happy. “Yes, John. Understood. May I begin?”

“Yes, baby. You may. When you are done I want you to wake up relaxed. We’ll have a lovely supper, watch some TV and then an early bedtime. I’ll even read to you again from the Hobbit if you want.”

A childlike giggle. “Mmmm…’k, that’d be nice. Can I do the dragon voice?”

“And the trolls, dwarves and whatever else you want, Sherlock. So get to marking the walls and let me know when you are done.”

I hear him say as he moves his hand through the air, in his mind, spraying the walls, “John loves me and will never leave me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really, I love hearing from you. Thanks for the time you spend reading this and thanks for the KUDOS. Love you too!
> 
> Be sure to read Book 2 Owning if you get the chance. Please tell your friends about this story if you want.


	14. Facing the Consequences… Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bored, in Time Out, Sherlock visits his Mind Palace to read more about the adventures of a great detective that had lived in 221B Baker Street in Victorian times. Hmmm, could it be that the dectetive Jeremy Huggins (picture Jeremy Brett) also got in trouble from time to time?
> 
> TAGS# Really angry Doms, naughty boys in time out, chores and spankings. LOTS OF FLUFF AND LOVE.

Sherlock:

I test John’s resolve about a week later. I didn’t intend to. It was the culprit’s fault. Well, his and the slow police response. If the killer hadn’t run, if the police had expedited themselves, I would not be in this fix with John. I’m completely blameless.

“The bus wasn’t supposed to turn,” I grumble at John.

I catch John’s terrified look as he approaches me and kneels. As soon as I show more signs of life by moaning, sitting up, and gripping my leg, his eyes turn fiery. He’s truly pissed with me. Death might be preferable to what John will do to me later.

“YOU weren’t supposed to be on top of it, fighting for your life either!” He states coldly.

“I DID call the police!”

John nods, head tilting regarding me, “Could have waited for them.”

“They are too slow! I was RIGHT there! And I DID catch him.”

Lestrade stands nearby, shaking his head at me. I lower my head and aim an angry look his direction. He’s grown immune apparently. He points right at my leg and growls, “Managed to hurt yourself this time? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before leaping off a bridge onto the top of a moving bus. I swear John needs to have a leash on you at all times!”

I ignore his taunt though I see it has resonated with John. “I solved the case, John. Now Edward’s son will have justice for his wife.”

It is Lestrade that remarks first, “It’s not that we are not grateful, Sherlock. We are. But can’t you leave the arrest up to the professionals? Please?”

“I’m sorry, Greg. It might be too much to ask of him. It took a lot of convincing just to get him to call in the first place. But don’t worry, Sherlock and I will discuss this. After we make sure he’s ok and not broken the damn leg.” John answers him. I know I’m doomed when he speaks about me as though I’m not sitting right next to him. I’m just hoping he’s not going to kill me with boredom. He always keeps his promises. That’s what I’m afraid of.

The ambulance arrives and I recognize the crew right away. They snort in amusement seeing me lying on the ground. I heard one say to the other, “Well this seems familiar.”

The damn shock blanket is placed around my shoulders and both my loving Dom and Lestrade have their mobile phones out taking pictures.

“Oh, how VERY PROFESSIONAL of you both,” I hiss in annoyance.

“Would you like me to alert the media?” John threatens with a dry grin. He thinks he’s so damn funny.

I pat my head, “Don’t have the hat, John.”

“Well then, let these gentlemen do their job so we can go home.”

**********************

A badly sprained ankle and four weeks on crutches. John has actually been very gentle and helpful. He hasn’t even mentioned the chase, the fall nor the consequences for my actions. But the moment the ace bandages are off and I can safely hobble around the flat, he’s back to his old, dominating self.  
I’m laying quietly on the sofa, boredom setting in but not in a way that pushes me into shooting at walls- at least not yet. John walks past carrying a stool and I watch him place it in my corner. I close my eyes and feign sleeping as he turns and approaches me.

“You are not asleep, Sherlock.”

“I could be if you’d stop moving furniture,” I grumble back.

“Sherlock.”

I open my eyes just a bit, squinting. He holds a hand out to me. When I frown, he adds, “You are no longer on the pain medication that made you so sleepy. Time to get up and deal with the consequences for your actions.”

This isn’t fair. “I called police. He was escaping. It’s not MY fault he got away from them!”

“Yes, you DID –for once- call them. I’m not punishing you for that.”

“Then for what?”

He started to tick off my ‘crimes’ on his fingers, “First, leaving a crime scene without telling anyone where you are headed, second, chasing after the criminal, and third, carrying out the chase in a very dangerous manner.”

I snort. “Oh is that all?”

Rage crosses John’s features. I have about two seconds before I am killed. I back pedal as quickly as I can. I raise a hand to ward him off as I try to calm him, “I apologize. You are right. It’s very serious. I accept the consequences.”

“GET.IN.YOUR.CORNER.”

I manage to rise and hop/walk to the stool. I allow my puzzled expression to ask my question. I do not exactly trust my mouth right now.

“Sit. You obviously cannot stand an hour and a half on that ankle just yet.”

An HOUR and a half? My mind disengages. He can’t be so heartless. He ignores my pleading, angry look and takes a seat in his chair. Once I take my place on the stool, face to the corner and long legs tucked safely on its rungs, I hear John set the kitchen timer and lift his book. I really don’t know how I’m going to survive this. 

An eternity later, I’m dying of thirst. I clear my throat and turn to look at John. He doesn’t even look my direction.

“Excuse me, John. May I have a drink?”

He still does not look up but answers, “You’ve been sitting there for ten minutes. You are fine.”

“But John…”

He continues reading. I shoot him with a flaming look that doesn’t seem to have the impact it used to. Sighing, I look back at the corner. It needs a coat of paint. As it’s an old building I start to try to deduce the stories about the lives of people that have occupied it in the past. I wonder if anyone else has stood in Time Out right here. There’s an interesting scratch down low near the floor. I haven’t seen it before; intriguing. It looks to be caused by a bayonet or sword, something pointed and sharp in any case. There has to be a story behind that. 

With my hands to my sides as John requires, it is difficult to enter my Mind Palace. Difficult but not impossible. With a bit of effort I descend the staircase, seeking my knowledge of this flat’s history. Snatching a file folder from a table, I find what I am looking for: The History of 221B Baker St. Interesting!   
There was once another detective, a gentleman named Jeremy Huggins and a doctor by the name of David Brook, living in this very flat. I sit back in a comfortable chair and read more about them. Apparently, like my own happy blogger, Dr. Brook liked to write about Jeremy’s adventures in Victorian London. This should be a delightful way to spend my long corner time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dr. Brook wrote:

My friend, Jeremy, the detective of whom I have written about on so many occasions, being also my flatmate could be quite difficult to live with in between his cases. One such occasion occurred following the case I have titled the Blue Carbuncle, an adventure he refuses to speak about even though our friends bring it up around the Christmas season. It was shortly after this case concluded that I returned from my practice and found my flatmate in a state of undress, merely robed in a loose sheet and tossing Oriental fighting stars at the wall. Just as I entered our flat and set aside my overcoat, one star careened off the wall, bounced off the adjacent corner and skidded by my foot, missing it by a finger width.

“JEREMY!” I barked in alarm. When he shrugged and threw another star my direction I dodged and with murder in my intention, strode straight towards him. “You nearly struck me just then and you are marking up the walls! Stop this nonsense!”

“I NEED a CASE!” He growled at me, his long, narrow face distorted in displaced rage. I would have to get him back in control of himself before this worsened. There was only one way to do that- discipline.

“That’s no reason to take it out on our landlord’s walls, Jeremy.” I explained to him, hoping he might catch the tone of my voice and current attitude. I straightened my back and leveled a glare his direction. “I’m not going to allow you to continue in this manner.”

He blissfully ignored me. Rising, with his sheet tucked in as a toga might be, he waved me off and started to pace beside his chair, half leaning over as though stalking evidence upon the floorboards. “Our landlord is well paid by my brother not only for this flat but also for his firm silence on OTHER matters that do not need public attention.”

“Our relationship for one,” I remarked. He nodded as he passed me for the third time.

“At least gentlemen of our proclivities are no longer stoned,” He said. “But I don’t fancy a prison sentence either.”

I saw his point. However it was time he understood mine. “That’s all well and good, Jeremy. I do appreciate Mr. Wilton’s silence. He doesn’t deserve to have his flat torn apart each time you’re needing a case or lose control over an experiment. Plus I have set rules I expect you to follow regarding such matters.”

He turned his cold, calculating stare back to me and froze in place, hovering. I’m certain dying animals have seen such looks from vultures before they rip into their flesh. His mouth turned downwards into the sneer I’ve grown accustomed to as he replied, “YOUR rules? You mean the ones I asked for?”

I took a slow, steadying breath through my nose. I know not to back down from him but it takes all my military backing to keep tackling these issues over and over. If I pressed my point he would either concede or lose his temper further. I was about to find out which. What do they say about a soldier’s folly?

“Yes, precisely,” I remarked dryly. “You requested these rules so that I could assist you in maintaining order in your chaotic life. I agreed to everything- including disciplining you when you need it. I do not relish these sessions and though they are fewer and far between, you still push me from time to time for them!”

There was a very long pause as he considered my words. Then before my very eyes, Jeremy seemed to shrink. He backed away and even sat back down in his chair, his hard stare softening as he submitted to my control. His long fingers steepled beneath his chin as he awaited my judgement.

“I think you need to consider how your actions affect those around you, Jeremy. Go to your corner and stand there until I call you. You’d better do so humbly, young man. I don’t wish to add to the consequences.”

OoooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sherlock:

I hear John calling my name from a great distance and I bolt up the stairs to my consciousness. He is standing next to me with an irritated look plastered to his countenance. Quickly my brain deduces what is likely to be the cause for it and I answer the question he has most likely uttered. I hope I guess correctly.  
“I’m fine, John. Just thinking about my actions.”

The frown lines deepen and for a moment I fear I have been caught. Then John simply nods, kisses me gently on the cheek and turns away. He sits back into his chair and with one final glance at me, returns to his book.

From the dull feeling in my legs I decide I’ve been sitting here about forty-five minutes. I think I have just time enough to read the rest of the good doctor’s story before my own doctor calls on me again. This time the descent is faster and smoother from my excitement.

OOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dr. Brook’s story continues:

Jeremy stood with perfect posture in his corner, still royally draped in the sheet and glared at the wall so hard I was afraid it might combust under his will power alone. He remained still and silent for a whole two minutes. When he felt he had considered his actions long enough he turned his dark eyes back my direction.

I held up a finger and shook it at him, “No, Jeremy, I expect cooperation. A full half an hour, no less!”

The temper tantrum started with his mouth as per his standard operating procedure. He snarled, “I DO NOT see how thirty minutes of my VALUABLE time spent wasted in a corner will change matters for anyone concerned.”

He’s crossed the line once too many times today. Angered, I rose and picked up three tomes from our bookcase. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as I approached him. I answered his unstated accusation. “Yes, you’ve earned more punishment. You mouthed off to me. Hold out your arms at shoulder height with each palm up.”

After he complied and raised each long limb, I laid a book on each side. Next I placed the heaviest one on his head. “Do not drop those. I’m restarting your time.”

The growl that followed me back to the chair would have frightened lesser men. As I sat back down and before I reviewed my paper I made a deliberate look to my pocket watch. I remarked, “Plus an additional ten for that snarl you just sent me. I will have your obedience and respect, Jeremy. Turn back to the wall at once or I will add additional books for you to manage.”

A soft grunt as he turned brought me satisfaction. Now in addition to the boring corner he’d have to pay attention to his the aches in his arms and neck. He wouldn’t have time to deduce or grumble about the unfairness I am applying to his existence.

We have been here before. I know exactly how long he can maintain the current posture under that additional weight. I am certain he is growing more and more miserable. Without lifting my head I raise my eyes to glance his direction over the paper’s edge. A muscle in his cheek is flinching and his eyes are closed tightly in concentration. The one and only time he had ever dropped a book his skin on his backside paid a dear price for it. I’m certain he won’t make that mistake again. His left arm dips from the pressure.

“Left arm, Jeremy. Get it back up.”

Trembling, he complies without a retort. Sensible. I’m not one to reckon with when I’m angry. Soon both arms are shaking and he’s only half way through his time. Even though he really does not deserve it, I decide to throw him a bone of encouragement. “You’re doing fine. Just twenty more minutes.”  
His arms steady themselves but there is still pain written on his face. I’ll let him be. Hopefully he can make it through the last half without my correction or intervention. I continue reading.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sherlock:

John taps me on the shoulder, bringing me out of my Mind Palace. He runs a hand along my arm and it feels comforting. He says, as he continues to physically reassure me, “I know you dislike such a long time out but I think you need this.”

I lean my head and rest it against his, “I’m alright. Was that the full time then?”

“Yes, and now I have a few chores for you,” he snorts when I moan my complaint. “That way you’ll learn to control your impulses if it results in chores you so dislike.”

True. And I know my lovely John has remembered exactly the ones I really despise, like doing the dishes. 

I watch him move away and he beacons me to follow him. I do so somewhat reluctantly. He stops at the table that holds my microscope and other materials. He picks up a notebook and shows it to me. Listed in his neat looping handwriting are six chores, three of which will take me a great deal of time. At the top, obviously, is listed to do the dishes. I frown at the pile sitting haphazardly in the sink and on the counter. I thought someone had recently done them. Guess not.

“Get started. Any order, I guess, is fine but honestly those dishes should be washed soon.”

“Doesn’t Mrs. Hudson usually do these?” I ask as I continue to scowl at the offending dishes and tableware but they don’t flee in fear or disappear. I start to look for the sponge.

John snorts, “Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson has NEVER done the dishes in all the years I’ve been here. I do them. But as we were away most of the past two days I haven’t had the chance to get to them. I think you can do them for the next two weeks.”

Ugh. “Can we eat out?”

John shakes his head as he walks away. He settles back with his book and I finally find the elusive sponge. As I start to tackle my chore I wonder what happened when Jeremy finally got to leave the corner. The dishes don’t take my full attention so I can safely re-enter my Mind palace to continue to read Dr. Brook’s story.

OOOoooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
Dr. Brook continues: 

Jeremy completed his thinking time without further fuss and I was greatly relieved. Nothing is harder to handle than a man acting as a small, tantrumy child. I couldn’t simply pick him up and place him in a corner as I might a child so his cooperation was fully required. If he simply decided he’d had enough I suspected he’d walk away and I’d be left standing there yelling at him ineffectually as I had done in the past. I did not want to go back to those days by any means. We were finally making progress.

I called him over to stand in front of me. He carefully handed me the three books as soon as he arrived at my feet. I took them without a word. He didn’t need to be reminded of his failure to obey me. “Kneel,” I told him.

It never ceased to amaze me, that although Jeremy was a tall, lanky figure he could move very gracefully. He dropped to his knees directly in front of me, his sharp hawk-like features calm as he waited. I took my time considering what would help my wayward lover the most and he eyes never left mine. He was deducing the outcome. 

“Stop that, you know I despise that cunning mind of yours tearing my actions apart.”

He smiled and said lightly, “I apologize. It’s a part of my very nature. Shall I retrieve the cane?”

“Please, do,” I told him. “And the strap. You’ve earned it I think for deducing my plans despite knowing my feelings on the subject.”

Within moments, Jeremy had cane and strap in hand. His face was calm, though there was a tell-tale twitch by his mouth. Anyone else would have overlooked it. I’ve been living with this deduction machine long enough to read the signs. Flashing eyes, watching my every move, furrowed brow now as I accept the implements- Jeremy is very nervous.

“By the settee, drop the sheet and lean forward. Ten with each.”

Jeremy grumbled under his breath. With a great deal of patience which he probably didn’t deserve, I wait while he carries out my instructions in his proud, aristocratic manner. When his backside was bared to me and he was leaning forward on his hands, I lifted the strap and brought it down hard. Not one sound escaped Jeremy’s lips. I knew that there wouldn’t be, even if he were in great pain. He’s very stoic about taking his discipline. It’s in his upbringing and possibly- more than likely, actually- it’s his pure stubbornness and Will power. 

Jeremy accepts the ten swats, only rising onto his toes for last two. As I rest my hand against his heated ass, he turns to look me in the eyes. They are bright and wide. I reassure him, “Doing well, Jeremy. Ten with the cane and then I’ll hold you.”

With Jeremy, the bonding time that came afterwards was always important. He rarely tolerated the world coming within touching range and only wanted intimacy from me alone. Even then, it had to be on his terms.

I backed away to stand at striking distance with the cane. This was not his first offence- far from it- I decided he’d need to have this lesson burned into that stubborn nature of his. I swung the senior cane with a bit more force than I had prior. A nasty red stripe rose upon his ass cheeks immediately and there was a hiss of surprise from Jeremy. As the next four stripes were laid out one just underneath the last, Jeremy hung his head and his limbs appeared to be shaking with his effort to remain still and silent.

“Jeremy, you may cry out. You don’t have to take this in silence.”

“I’m fine, thank you, David. Please finish this abhorrent task.” He answered, his voice rough and pained.

The next blow lifted him onto his toes again and he collapsed forward for a brief moment, his hands trembling. Determined to finish and to comfort him, I add two more stinging swats. His hands rub across the burning marks and this surprises me. 

“Best to put your hands back down, wouldn’t want to strike them instead.” I told him gently. With some reluctance his hands returned to their correct position. “Brace then, Jeremy. I’m going to deliver the last two quite hard. I want you to remember this lesson.”

Swack. The sound was loud as the cane connected to punished flesh. A very slight groan escaped from Jeremy. One more was required and though I hated doing it, it would keep us both sane for at least a few days.

Swack.

As Jeremy reacted to the final swat, I dropped the cane to the floor and embraced him. He backed into my touch, softly crying. I’d broken his through his resolve. He was compliant as I maneuvered us both onto the settee. He hissed as I settled him over my lap, his long frame folded to fit just so. I rubbed his back and held onto him as though he were a breakable object. I kissed him on top of his dark hair and Jeremy, for once, allowed this sentiment. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sherlock:

I have managed to complete the chore without a single complaint. The dishes are washed, stacked in cupboards and I’ve even rinsed the sink. I turn and notice that John is watching me. His face is scrunched up in a scowl of suspicion. My eyebrow arches at this to ask him what could possibly be wrong.

“Were you in your Mind Palace?” He asks.

Lying leads to all sorts of trouble. I decide to be honest. “I was. It helped me get through this tedious task, John.” I shiver from the way his eyes darken.

“The point was to bore you out of disobedience, remember?”

Well, I remember NOW. I sigh and nod confirmation. “I am truly sorry, John. Add another day to make up for it.”

John’s look softens and he agrees, “That would be ok, I guess. Thank you for not arguing with me. You seemed really engaged in whatever it was you were thinking about.”

“Have I ever told you about the famous detective that lived here in Victorian times?” I ask him. 

Nodding, he replies, “Jeremy Huggins? You’ve mentioned him as someone you greatly admire. Many of your deduction techniques came from him, yes?”

“As did my Mind Palace, my interest in bee keeping and many keen insights into the criminal mindset.”

“I see, and what does he have to do with today?” John asks.

“I now recall what it was that caused the scratch on the wall in my corner.”

John laughs and shrugs at me. I push him backwards out of the kitchen and towards the couch, determined to sit in his lap as I regale him of Jeremy and David’s adventures. He plops down and pulls me onto his lap, mirroring David’s actions with Jeremy almost precisely. 

“May I have a cuddle?” I ask him.

“Certainly, silly boy. Anytime.”

I curl into him and begin, “Dr. Brook came home to find Jeremy to be very bored and throwing Oriental fighting stars at the wall…”

John stiffens and interrupts, “I hope you are not getting any ideas, Sherlock!”

“Kindly stop interrupting… as I was saying, Jeremy was throwing the stars and one careened off the corner and nearly struck David’s foot…”

John hugged me tightly and listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jeremy Brett and David Burke as Sherlock and John so I thought hey, our modern guys are going back so why can't MY story. 
> 
> Love to you all.


	15. A Shared Life in Two Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is being sneaky about something and doesn't think John could possibly know. We know better right? John is going to handle it...again.
> 
> Told by both of them.
> 
> OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Indicates change of point of view!

JOHN:

It’s just another day. I take an extra shift at the clinic for my friend and by the time I come home, Sherlock has blown up the kitchen. I can smell something akin to burning tar even in the stairwell.

“John!” Mrs. Hudson calls out to me from her doorway. “PLEASE do something! If you don’t I’m going to have to beat him myself!”

Mmmm, yes, we don’t want that do we? I look up the stairs, preparing myself for battle just as she slams the door closed to her flat. Poor woman, she’s had to put up with him far longer than I have. I square my shoulders and stomp up the stairs. The flat door is locked and I’ve forgotten my damn key. There’s raucous violin screeching inside our flat and annoyed, I pound on the door. Sudden silence. But no movement to let me in either.

“OPEN THE BLOODY DAMN DOOR! I’VE FORGOTTEN MY KEY!” I shout at Sherlock. Still silence. Does he think he can pretend he’s suddenly not home? “OPEN IT AT ONCE, YOUNG MAN!”

I don’t normally correct him like this outside the privacy of our flat but at this moment I’m considering a public flogging… not with the soft flogger he adores. OH NO, he deserves the one with knots for this behavior. I pound again until the door shakes.

Mrs. Hudson’s door opens below me again and she comes up behind me handing me her spare key to our flat and a wooden spoon. She smiles at me and once I take her offering, she retreats back to her flat. I slip the key in the lock and open the door slowly. The way the place smells I expect to find burning tires in the sitting room. Nothing is amiss here in this room, must be the kitchen.

Sherlock is posed perfectly near the window. Acting innocent and trying to be aloof. His violin is still clutched in one hand, his bow in the other as he looks out the window. Many days I’ve returned to this very scene and most of the time I enjoy seeing him this way. Regal and composed. This time, he’s faking it. I see it in the way his fingers are turning white where he’s gripping the instrument nervously. His mouth is also twitching. He’s expecting to be in serious trouble. And he is.

He wants to act, fine, I can act too. I shift gears, putting on a calm demeanor. “It’s a lovely evening outside, Sherlock. Want to take a walk later.”

“Hmmm? Is it?”

“You’re pensively staring outside, thought you were perhaps contemplating going for a stroll,” I tell him, deliberately NOT looking into the kitchen as I sit down. His foot taps. Internally, I laugh at this. He’s really keyed up. It must be a disaster in the kitchen. Why not torture him some more? “Think I’ll have tea.”

Before I rise, Sherlock has practically tossed his beloved violin and bow into his chair, dashes past me in my own chair and exclaims, “NO! Um, I’ll get it for you, John. You had a LONG day.”

“Thank you, Sherlock. How about that walk later? Would do for you to get some fresh air.”

In the kitchen there are strange sounds of broken glass being stepped on and a few muttered curse words. The kettle shrieks finally and after a frantic sounding search in the cupboards, Sherlock returns to my side with tea and a cookie tin with old biscuit crumbs. “I forgot to do the shopping. Sorry. We can walk over to the shop later if you want.”

“So you were busy on an experiment?” I ask calmly, raising an eyebrow as I sip at my rather bland tea.

His jaw clenches but as he answers it’s his eyes that give him away. They widen as he makes eye contact then looks away quickly towards the kitchen. “Yes, yes. But it’s finished now.”

“Mmmm, ok,” I say lightly. “Good. Hope you cleaned it all up. I’m starving.”

“Let’s go out tonight. Walking sounds great. The Thai place around the corner then a bit of light shopping. End with a hot shower and a cuddle in bed?”

No, I’m enjoying this. I’m going to make his life Hell for a little longer. “I’d rather eat in. I can cook that herbed chicken for us again. What do you think?”

A frown, thinking and plotting how to keep me out of the kitchen. Sherlock shakes his head emphatically, he demands, “I want Thai. I’ve been cooped up all day.”

He FINALLY observes the wooden spoon and keys in my hand. Then he pretends not to notice. He moves towards the front door and pulls on my sleeve as he passes me. “Come on, John. This will be good for both of us. I’ll get a dose of healthy fresh air and you can unwind.”

I rise and follow him to the door, as he puts on his jacket I show him the wooden spoon. “What should I do with this?”

My naughty boy, feeling guilty, swallows. “Why do you have it anyway?”

“Oh, it belongs to Mrs. Hudson. She lent it to me for some reason. Will you return it to her for me? Oh and the spare key too?”

I try to hand both to Sherlock but he backs away as though I’m holding a snake out to him. He tells me, speaking rapidly, “She’s got company I think. I’ll give them to her tomorrow.”

“You sure she has company?”

“Yes, John. Just lay them there. I’ll take care of it later.”

Smirking I lay the spoon and keys on our hall side table and follow him out the door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

SHERLOCK:

I cannot conceive as to why John is being so difficult to maneuver tonight. I’m sure he doesn’t suspect the disaster in the kitchen. But surely he’s noticed the smell of melted linoleum. Perhaps though he still has his cold.

We walk quietly together, side by side. I slip my hand into his and he accepts it with a gentle squeeze. Abruptly the image of us as little old men comes to mind and I chuckle. He looks at me, puzzled. I explain, “Just saw you and I in our 80’s, holding hands and shuffling along on canes.”

“I’d probably be beating you with mine.”

Good point actually. “Nope, even then, I’ll be able to out run you. But you’ll be shouting at me to slow down so you can discipline me.”

John snorts. “Speaking of discipline…”

CHANGE SUBJECTS NOW! I see a squirrel in the grass in the park and point it out to him. “Look, a squirrel, John.”

He practically busts out laughing, “Down, boy. I see it, Sherlock. Same damn squirrel every time we walk.”

“That’s a different one, John, I’m certain. That one has a fluffier tail, is a little darker in color too.”

“Alright, baby. You are more observant than I, perhaps it’s a different one. Thank you for pointing it out to me.”

“Certainly, my pleasure.” I remark. Disaster has been averted.

“Speaking of discipline…” He starts again. Damn. He’s a dog with a bone sometimes.

“Were we?” I ask as casually as I can, “Speaking about discipline?”

He sighs. We’ve reached a quiet section of our neighborhood. He stops and tugs at my hand so that I stand in front of him. I can’t quite meet his gaze. I try and fail. There’s some hope for me though, in the fact he simply fails to observe clues that I’ve done something wrong. I’m still safe.

“I just want to tell you how proud of you I am. You’ve done so well with the rules these past two weeks I think you deserve a reward.”

I feel like scum. Scum on the foot of a rat walking through a garbage dump. He’s proud of my behavior? Damn again. I shake my head slowly, “It’s nothing, John. I don’t need a reward.”

“No, no, I insist. In fact I have a gift for you back at the flat. Bought it yesterday, hand selected.”

I want to crawl into a hole. Instead I smile the best I can at my lover. “Thank you, John.”

He clasps my hand even tighter and as we continue our walk he reiterates fondly, “Very proud of you! You’re really a delightful person, you know that, Sherlock? I’m very privileged to get to see this side of you.”

Now I want to drop to my knees, confess to my grievous blunder in the kitchen and beg forgiveness. I’m going to have to keep him out of it somehow all evening. I’ll even drug him if I have to so that tonight I’ll have time to clean it- not sure I’ll have time to refloor but I’ll try. Maybe we need a kitchen throw rug.

I drag out dinner as long as I can. John gets irritated after my third trip to the loo and downright bossy when I ask him if he wants to see a movie or get beer at the pub. His look turns dark and brooding when finally I suggest a trip to Edward’s club.

“Sherlock, for the TENTH time- I’m tired. We should just go home, watch TV then head to bed…or we can skip the TV part.”

“I’m NOT tired, John.”

John groans and eyeballs me with a serious scowl, “Why don’t you want to go home? What did you do?”

Thinking fast, I lie, “I DIDN’T do anything. I just want to stay out. This IS good for my wellbeing right? Being social? You said I need to get out more, be with – people. Here I am, with PEOPLE, my favorite person, in fact, and YOU want me to go home. Not fair, John. Make up your mind.”

Ha, put it back on him. I watch him carefully. Is he going to cave or is he going to insist we go home? I deduce he’s right on the fence. An eyebrow lifts and he crosses his arms, considering my words. He says slowly, “So this is about YOUR health? Not about any misbehavior? I’m giving you a chance here, to fess up.”

I cross my heart. As we exit the restaurant I glance up to check the sky. No lightning bolts strike me dead. 

“We can walk the long way home, how’s that? See if they finished that new pet store?” John decides.

Good, it will add at least a half an hour.

“May I get a rat, John?”

“No, Sherlock. I already told you NO pets. They are not for experimenting on.”

The whole history of lab animals comes to mind. I try to tell him, “Rats are highly intelligent and can be trained, John…”

“No,” He growls and pops me on my butt. I drop the subject lest he start thinking about discipline again.

**********************  
The flat still smells like burned flooring. I watch John’s face as we enter and he doesn’t seem to be able to smell it. I’m relieved.

I dash ahead of him and drop royally onto the sofa. I beckon him to my side. He stops just short of reaching my outstretched hand and announces, “I need a snack if we’re going to watch a movie.”

I practically knock him over as I race to the kitchen. I shout back at him, ‘I’ll make us popcorn. You sit and RELAX. You said you were tired.”

“I can help,” he says. I can tell he’s going to walk close enough to see the damn scorched area, the pieces of broken Bunsen burner and glass all over the floor. Not to mention the fire extinguisher foam piled up in different mounds here and there plus a charcoaled human liver I had tossed, in flames, into the sink. There’s melted plastic ware under the liver now. 

“No!” I shout. I hurry out of the kitchen and firmly plant a hand on John’s chest to stop him. “I want to show you HOW much I love you. Let ME make the popcorn. You always do it and that’s not fair to you.”

I love his gentle smile. He flashes it at me now. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I wouldn’t mind more help with all the meals and shopping actually.”

Damn it. I paste a smile to my face. “Certainly, John. Only happy to help. Now, GO SIT, please.”

The smell of burned popcorn soon wafts through the living space. I hear John get up. No, No, No. “I got this! Just lost track of the cooking time! RELAX!”

“You sure, Sherlock? Smells burned to me.”

I grab the second bag, perfectly popped and fill the bowls. Hurriedly, I retreat from the bloody damn kitchen that’s trying to get me slaughtered. “NOTHING is burned. Here, a snack. Tea. We are all set.”

John is not really watching the Star Trek movie. I don’t get it, he usually is so absorbed by the British actor on the screen named Bandicoot Pumpernickelsnacks or something ridiculous like that. He normally gets all fan girl about him though I honestly don’t see the attraction. The guy reminds me of an otter and I don’t think he can act. I inquire, “Don’t want to finish the movie?”

“Seen it before,” he reminds me. He looks restless. Before he can get up and wander near the kitchen I snuggle closer to him.

“May I have my reward, John?”

“Mmmmmm, lovely idea. I think I left the box on the kitchen table.” He starts to move. I shove him back down.

“It wasn’t in the kitchen, John. I assure you. Maybe the bedroom?”

He thinks a moment. He announces, “That’s right, it’s in the playroom on the table, the one next to the canes.”

“I’ll get it. JUST. STAY. RIGHT. THERE.” I race to retrieve it.

I snatch up the wrapped box, catch sight of the canes and suddenly feel a tiny bit bad about lying. Not much. Not enough for me to go and confess or something. When I return to the sitting room I sigh in relief to see he hasn’t moved.

I flop down next to him handing him the box. Puzzled, he scrunches his nose. He hands it back.

“It’s for you, silly boy. Thank you for all the good behavior lately.”

Carefully I pull the paper off. I slide the box open. My gift, nestled in the tissue, is a shiny steel chastity device and a heart shaped metal lock with John’s name etched on it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooo

JOHN:

A bit worried I’ve scared him, I say, “Sherlock, I know you MAY not consider chastity as a reward but you have to admit, it’s a beautiful device. It will look stunning on you!”

He still doesn’t move. His forehead wrinkles. I’ve truly surprised him. Worried that his machine like mind is stuck again after a long pause, I nudge him and add, “I think it will help you stay out of trouble with the whole masturbation thing, Sherlock.”

He blinks. System has rebooted hopefully. He still seems shocked. Finally he murmurs, “I’m honored, John. For you to have full control over my needs and to wear this for you.”

“So you do like it?”

“Oh God yes, John. I love it.”

“I’d like you to wear it full time,” I explain. He nods, gently running a long thin finger along the short length of steel pipe. “I can supervise your shower time when you take it off.”

“Will you put it on me now?” Sherlock asks, his eyes gleaming in excitement.

I stretch and yawn. Dramatically, I look towards the kitchen. My view is blocked by a wall but nonetheless Sherlock stiffens and braces to block me from moving in that direction. I smile at him sweetly and I know he must be really keyed up otherwise he’d note the ‘cat ate a mouse’ look behind it. He’s missing all the evidence that I’m on to him. “I need some tea I think.”

“You won’t be able to sleep, John,” He remarks. He tugs on my arm until I rise and follow him towards the spare room upstairs, the one that avoids the kitchen. I let him ‘convince’ me, guiding me by hand up the stairs and into the room. He spots a second package on the bed, this one unwrapped.

“What’s that?” Sherlock inquires.

“Another gift,” I answer.

“I don’t deserve this, John,” Sherlock tells me softly. There is a shy quality about him others rarely get to see. I feel privileged in that respect.  
Honestly I try not to ruin this moment. I proffer the box, explaining as he opens it slowly, “I think you should see what it is first.”

 

As he pulls open the cardboard flap, he slides out the object within and holds it up. He looks from it to me hesitantly. The metal toy looks large and threatening even when held in his long, graceful fingers. He remarks quietly, “It’s a ball crusher.”

“Mmmm, yes, it is.” I say. I watch his face carefully. He’s nervous but interested. 

“Okay.”

“Okay meaning you are green on this being used, Sherlock?”

He swallows and searches my face. I try to keep everything behind a poker face. Seeing nothing to alarm him, he nods and answers, “Green.”

“Great, good. Strip and get in position on the wall.” I order him. He moves swiftly and soon is facing me, naked, arms spread and feet apart. His cock is waving proudly and dripping in excitement already. “Mmmm, very nice.”

I run my hands possessively over his alabaster chest and pinching at his nipples perking them into little nubs. He shifts very slightly into my fingers, pressing into them like a cat might while being petted. I’m honestly surprised he’s not purring at me. My hands drop to his belly then continue exploring smooth flesh as they stroke him into oblivion. His cock nicely jerks up to meet me and drips pre-cum onto my fingers. I taste his fluids and with my free hand, lift his balls and simply hold them. His eyes are blown. He’s high on pleasure and looks radiant. Angelic. If angels get really horny.

I stand there this way a few minutes. One hand still under him, I lay the other on the side of his face. I tell him, “You are mine. You are beautiful this way. Waiting for me to torture your gorgeous body.”

He nods although I’m certain he’s not really fully comprehending my words. He hears the tone only as I soothe him. As I step away to retrieve the cuffs and other equipment I will need he whines at me pitifully. I tut at him and remind him to be still and silent.

“I’m right here, boy. Be good for me,” I add. I approach him again and swiftly have him secured spread eagled against the wall. Though his feet are kept apart with a spreader bar he can arch forwards at the hips and he’s doing so now. His dick hoping for more of my attention. I smirk silently. It’s about to get more of my attention then he expects and none of it will lead to orgasm.

I grasp his waist firmly and shove his hips back, scolding him to keep a proper position. Next I secure the base of his balls in the thick ring of the ball crusher. I carefully trap his balls under the top piece by closing the device’s cross bar by twisting screws. It tightens and holds him firmly, not hurting –YET- just keeping them in place for the moment. Lastly I attach an electrical loop under the cock head and with an alligator clamp I hook the electrical box to the ball crusher as well. I check my work carefully then rise. He’s watched all this with detached interest. It is when I lift the thin cane from the bed that I get a whimper of protest. I’m sure he was wanting more pleasure and not expecting what he was about to get.

“Before your pathetic dick is locked in chastity it will be electrified and caned.” I remark as I tap his cock very lightly with each word. “Each. And. Every. Time, Boy. I will play with what is mine as is my right. Your balls will be crushed. You will edged. There will be no mercy so do not ask for it. I alone decide when you will come.”

My work and words have grounded him again. The tapping cane has his full attention. His mouth hangs slack and for once, wisely, he has nothing to say. His large, expressive eyes observe like a hawk as I kneel between his legs and reach for the ball crusher. He holds his breath as I start turning the screws. Slowly the bar clamp down on his trapped balls, the skin tightening. He hisses in pain but as a doctor I know he’s suffered no damage. I continue to twist them until he lets a sharp yelp of pain to escape and his body trembles ever so softly. I flip the switch on the electric box. The red light begins to flash. I raise the intensity and tempo. His cock is being shocked and his balls crushed with the addition of electrical current zapping them. His cries and twisting body amuse me, my cock responding to the sights and sounds with enthusiasm. I rub my crotch, it’s a delicious exotic feeling. Even grunting in pain as I flick his tightly crushed balls, his eyes are locked on mine. My excitement is feeding his.

“You are so damn hungry for this treatment, slut. You love it. Admit it.”

“Oh god, more, please, John!”

I almost laugh. Yep, loves the pain. Addicted to it. I reach and tighten the screws again. I can tell when it’s just right. He howls and tries to pull free from the wall. I simply nudge at the reddened skin of his tightly compacted ball sack and he moans again, thrashing. I also ease the electric pulses higher and higher. Each quick red flash of the light indicating when his body is being worked over.

I simply tap his cock over and over, moving from the base towards the weeping tip. Each tap elicits a grunt or moan. I’m not swinging hard at him, his skin being taught and very sensitive already. His cock dances beneath the cane, never softening.

“Such a naughty, little slut,” I tell him. “You need this to feed your addiction.”

Gasping as I apply the cane in an upward blow to the cockhead, he flinches and shakes his head fervently. “No, no…ah,” He denies my allegations.

“Yes, you are. You WANT me to abuse these pitiful things too,” I explain as I very gently lay a soft blow to his aching, crushed balls. His reaction would lead an observer to believe I had delivered a vicious blow. He rises on tiptoe, grunts and growls as the pain washes over him.

“NO,” He grunts out stubbornly.

“Then I will HELP you accept this truth. You need the ball crusher tightened, don’t you and you need the electricity zapping your manhood to be increased.”

“No,” he whines, watching my hands helplessly. He’s nodding at the same time, confused.

I turn screws and twist the dial. His body begins to shake and jump to the timing of the red light on the electrical box. 

Taptaptap. His cock bouncing again as I resume the torture.

“Let’s try that again. Are you enjoying this, slut?”

He whimpers and nods.

“SAY IT!” I command him, giving his cock a harder tap than before. Pre-cum flies free in a long stringy mass.

“I’m enjoying this, John.” He says as he tries to catch his breath.

“Yes, and you are a pain slut addicted to this treatment. Tell me, what are you?”

Sherlock throws his head back and tries in earnest to close his legs. He’s near the edge now. He begins to plead.

TAP after slow TAP. As he crosses over to fly from the pain he cries out, “A pain slut! Yes, John! Oh God…please!”

We’re almost there. He can’t take more pain. I stop the electricity and carefully remove both the wire loops and the ball crusher. He goes limp in his bonds, panting. His body is slick with sweat. The last of his torture will be pleasure and denial.

>I unbind his arms and legs, remove the ball crusher slowly and the wire around his cock head, assist him to the bathroom and enter the shower stall with him still leaning against me. We stand still there, his weight on me as his heartrate begins to back down into a normal range and he’s no longer shuddering. Finally, when he is more alert again I push him away so that I am against the wall and he is standing in front of me, waiting for whatever might come next.

“Kneel and pleasure me, boy,” I command Sherlock. The gold flecks in his mesmerizing eyes glint as he smiles seductively, almost possessively at me. He’s so hungry to please that it hardens me like never before. I groan as he slides his hands slowly down my body as he sinks downwards to the shower floor.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SHERLOCK:

I drop to my knees in front of him at once; grunting from the deep incessant throbbing in my balls, the swinging movement of my sack adding to the torture. I press my face into his fur, licking at his skin beneath. The pain eases as I focus on John. His hands guide me upwards to engulf his cock and control the speed at which I suckle him. 

Calmly, I sip air through my nose, his pubic hair curling softly tickling my face. His scent of arousal and my own sweat comingle. It drives me forward, making me hungrily engulf him again and again to the root. Deep sounds emanate from his belly and change in pitch to a high whine when I back off to lick gently at the sensitive glans. His fingers, entwined in my hair, twist and tug at my head roughly trying to pull me back down. I grin and playfully nip at him. 

“Uh uh, NO biting,” John growls above me as his hand yanks hair to correct me. “Do it right or I’ll get that crusher back on you while you suck me.”

My balls ache at his words and I can’t decide whether I want the thing back on or not. Another tug to my hair brings me back into the moment. I lick my lips, looking up at John, seductively. “Is this what you want, John?”

“Testing me, boy?”

I shiver at his tone. He’s not being playful at all. I feel him stiffen his back as he glares down at me.

“No, John.” I tell him immediately. 

I engulf his cock deep into my mouth, adding tongue swirls and suction. The grip in my hair loosens slightly. The hand then locks to the back of my head not allowing me to back away, controls depth and speed of my labor. Obediently I suckle and moan at his commanding guidance. The sound vibrates against his cock and his juices flow into my mouth. With just a few more bobs of my head he cums, grunting and panting.

I lean my head on his thigh, watching him twitch from the pleasure still coursing through his body. His hand strokes my head softly as he calms down and catches his breath. My John, unable to think or move, is precious to me. I love this intimate moment, waiting for him to recover.

“Stand up. No, move closer to the shower head, take your ready position,” John commands me once he has recovered. I move as directed and stand waiting with my legs spread and arms gripped behind my back, wrist to elbow. His eyes lock on my cock which has hardened during my labor to bring him pleasure. Under his attention it swells further, a few drops of moisture gathering at its tip.

His movement towards me, towards my aching, hypersensitive cock nearly breaks me. I grit my teeth and still my backwards movement. His hand slides along the rigid length, avoiding the tip, and settles just under my ball sack. Helplessly I shiver in his grasp. I’ve never felt more possessed than in this moment. I am his, I always will be. I swallow and watch, intrigued as his other hand lowers and teases me.

One hand pulling at my sack, the other fluttering lightly up and down my cock’s length and I am completely undone. If I could I’d collapse like a puddle of jelly. It is sheer will power for me to remain upright and not drop to my knees pleading for mercy. Each stroke sends a wave of pleasure through my entire body and even my toes are curling. I’m too damn close, if he continues I’ll simply explode and die. I cannot hold back any longer.

He swats hard at my jutting need, releases my balls and I gasp as the cliff looms just within reach. Just one more stroke. Pre-cum oozes to the shower stall floor. If I were ever able to give advice to another submissive man about orgasm denial I’d tell him DO NOT CHOOSE A DOCTOR. They know precisely every subtle sign and they can be heartless in teasing you to the very edge.

My doctor’s eyes are steely, amused as I hump the air. He licks his lips and watches me with that smirk that drives me insane. Once I am still he steps closer. I almost start to babble, to beg. He can’t seriously mean to torture me again. One hand finds my chin, holding it steady and he locks eyes with me. I can’t look down to see where the other hand is, although I suspect his intentions are dark. I feel globs of pre-cum bubbling out of me. It brings a blush to my face as he chuckles at me- at my desperate, pleading look. My senses are tingling in my heightened state of arousal and I whimper for pity as I feel the heat of his free hand a moment before it grasps my shaft mercilessly. A sharp grunt tears free from me even as I fight to hold it in and his look turns cold, nasty. I’m going to pay for my failure to remain silent for him.

Very slowly his hand slides downwards along the shaft then back up, barely grazing the crown. It’s so slow that I’m certain time has stopped completely. He pulls my face closer to his as he continues to stroke me. He presses his mouth to mine, commanding me to open for him. My eyes flutter closed as I submit to the entry of his tongue. The heat of his mouth and constant pressure below are driving me right to the ledge and are pushing me over it. He changes the direction of his stroking and now ends each with a tickle over the glans. I’m flying on pleasure and his commanding presence. Just as I feel my balls draw up tightly and the first real twitches of orgasm overtaking me I also feel John’s mouth sneer beneath my lips.

His hand stills and I thrust forward, as I do so his fingers loosen their grip. I am no longer in contact with warm, slick skin and the cool air seems startling in contrast, drawing out a whimpering cry from me. I am so close, my balls aching just right with need that I begin to plead with John. I know he’s about to slide that damn chastity device onto my cock and I have no assurances from him that he’ll release me any day soon. It seems impossible to still my body and to silence my sounds of desperation. His slight frown of disapproval is finally enough to help me get myself back under control. I pant hard, fighting my urges to jump on John and fuck him senseless. 

Finally, he nods his approval of my behavior, steps free of the shower tub and turns on the spray jets- with frigid cold water. My body is thrown from lava state into arctic ice and it damn near locks up my heart. I gasp and cover my cock from the needles and pins striking me.

John snorts and slaps my hands away. “It’s only water, boy. Not even as cold as I’d like it to be. Thank me for not using actual ice water.”

My brain has had a derailment and it takes a moment for me to get my jaw unlocked enough to answer properly. “Th…thank you, J..John.”

I feel helpless as a child as he starts to manhandle my frozen, stiff limbs to open me up more to the cold spray. He roughly washes my body and rinses me off. My dick is now soft and I’m very compliant to his orders. He turns off the water and towels me off, ignoring my shivering and downcast eyes. I’d love to crawl into bed with him right now, cuddle close, and be with him for protection and affection. I can’t though. I haven’t earned all this. I’ve lied to him all day and hidden the effects of my experiment gone wrong. He should lock away not only my cock but my whole being as well. A deep dark, cold cage is where I deserve to reside. I start to bawl- just simply cry, scared and heart sick. I want to confess but my stubbornness won’t allow it.

“You want to tell me something, what is it?” John asks.

Time stops moving forward. No matter how much I want to say the truth it sits there like a stone in my stomach, robbing me of peace and making me feel nauseated. I can’t, I just can’t. I look at him pleading with my eyes simply to read my mind if he can. Just don’t make me figure out words to say all this dark stuff inside. I mutter, “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

His eyes are a cold grey-blue and they rake over me, offering no warmth. Perhaps he knows. If so, he’s a right to be angry. He doesn’t say anything to me. He grasps my limp cock and silently secures it in the metal sleeve. The lock clicks into place finally. I look down at myself and sigh. I don’t dare ask him when he might allow me out of this nor when I might come next. I’m afraid of the answer, quite frankly.

“Time for bed, Sherlock. You’re shivering, let’s get you under the covers.”

As he starts towards the door that leads back down the stairs to our bedroom- the one you get to through the kitchen- I struggle against him, leaning towards the spare bed nearby. "Please, John. I'm too tired to go all the way down. Let's sleep right here tonight." 

Thankfully he agrees. He tucks me in first then slides in beside me. His body is warm, delicious. He pulls me tight against this heat and as my body temperature rises to match his, the shivering stops. He is calm, running his hands over my arm that is draped over him as he lies on his back looking up at the ceiling thinking. I feel much better now. Safer in his embrace. 

The chastity device is tight, uncomfortably biting into my flagging dick but I do my best to ignore it. I’m certain John will release me if it causes pain. Sometimes there is an advantage to having my own doctor in the house and I must remember to thank him for his care. Before I turn away from him to my preferred position on my side, I caress his neck following the chain downwards with my fingers to his chest where the key lays secure on smooth skin. The tightness in my groin increases dramatically when I see the key and I moan from the pressure. A quiet smile crosses his face though his eyes are closed. 

“You are an evil man, John Watson.”

A soft, sleepy chuckle. “I know.”

I’m going to correct this for him. It’s going to be one hell of a long night, half hard, wanting release but being obediently quiet so that John may sleep. Once he relaxes and I feel his breathing slow as he drops into slumber, I’ll be able to carefully wiggle free without waking him. I’ll get the kitchen cleaned up, move a few rugs temporarily to cover the burned flooring and spray something to mask the damn smell.

John spoons close to me, his chin poking me at the base of my neck. His hot breath is making me shiver. “Mmmmm, that was lovely walk and dinner, Sherlock. Thank you.”

“Of course, John.”

He kisses my spine. Very gently he whispers against my back. I can feel each word formed by his soft lips as they cover my skin. “You and I are going to discuss the kitchen tomorrow, ok?”

I stiffen and John chuckles, “Oh yes, I’ve known since I first got home. Your ass is going to be BEATEN tomorrow, young man.” He grips my waist as I try to wiggle from his embrace. “No, shhhh. It’s ok. It was a wonderful evening… and highly entertaining. Thank you.”

I settle down. No reason to fight this. “You are welcome, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you, Sherlock. You can't fool John.


	16. Birthday Bash Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Sherlock survive long enough to get to his birthday party? If he keeps up his naughty behavior, he may not. 
> 
> #Spanking, caning implied and shaving.

JOHN:

Sherlock is driving me bat shit crazy. I’m not certain what’s going on but I suspect it has something to do with his birthday coming up. He has never gotten excited before and in fact, he usually forgets the date until I mention it. This time he’s bouncing off walls and bounding over furniture.

“Sherlock! Enough already!”

“It’s an experiment, JOHN!” He shouts at me as he bolts over the back of the sofa for the tenth time. He stops momentarily to guzzle more soda.

I squirk my eyebrows at him. I disapprove of strange experiments that involve his physical well-being and general health. I’m his doctor after all. “That’s enough soda, I think.” I tell him.

“It’s for a case, JOHN,” He assures me, his voice raising in volume yet again. “Trying to show that a significant sugar high can impact judgement.”

“It’s impacting yours for certain! It’s not a good idea to push your Dom’s patience this way, young man.”

He ignores me, opens another can, downs it in one very long swallow and belching loudly, he tosses it to the floor. With a wild wolf-like howl (if a wolf was on meth) he takes off at a run and jumps straight up on kitchen table sending several plates skittering across the surface and nearly knocking his microscope to the floor. Bloody Hell.

“GET DOWN AT ONCE AND COME HERE!” I roar at him.

The startled, frightened look he gives me, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, would look at home on a naughty child. He looks down at the table as if he has just noticed his whereabouts then he looks at his shaking hands. He climbs down slowly, holding carefully to the table as if it was rocking and trembling, not him. Sherlock faces me, hands tucked under his arm pits either to hide their shaking from me or to better control them. Either way, it is obvious to me that the sugar high now has provided a complete loss of control and it has just occurred to my brilliant boy that perhaps it isn’t such a pleasant experience.

“I…I don’t feel well, John,” He mumbles to me. I grab him just as he collapses forward and help ease his long frame to the floor. “I feel so lightheaded. F…floaty.”

“Your blood sugar is over the damn moon, Sherlock. You have a headache? Feel like you’re going to pass out?”

He shakes his head weakly, laying it in my lap and whimpering pathetically. I feel his forehead and find it a bit sweaty from running around but not clammy nor overheated. I let out a long sigh of relief and brush back errant dark curls from his face just as he yawns. He is sugar crashing and will sleep most likely for several hours. I chide him, “No more experiments on yourself, Sherlock. PERIOD.”

 

I feel him nod his head against my leg. Grumbling, I pull at him until he makes an effort to stand then basically I man handle him back into the sitting room to toss him onto the sofa. He mumbles something and tucking a pillow under his head I lean over and ask him what he said.

“Mmmmm, thanks, John.”

Damn him, he always knows exactly how to calm me down. How can I get mad at this sweet, lovable young man? Yes, he has issues. Big ones. But he often can’t help getting in trouble. He doesn’t do it on purpose. Still I’m going to need to correct this behavior or next time he may push his body into a damn coma.

I kiss him on the top of the head, pat him on the shoulder and let him know, “We’re still going to discuss this behavior today, young man. After your nap.”

 

***************************

I know he despises standing in the corner. That’s the point. It’s boring. You have to think about your behavior because there’s nothing else to do besides staring at the junction of two walls. He’s making as if I’m torturing him.

“Jooooooooooohn, I don’t want to stay in the corner.”

I roll my eyes. Obviously he doesn’t want to be there, he’s driving me UP the wall about it. “We’re starting the timer over AGAIN because you’re complaining.”  
I shift the kitchen timer back to the start of the fifteen minutes. I warn him, “Keep it up and you’ll get a spanking even before I start your REAL punishment. YOU MAY NOT go into your mind palace AT all! I want you to learn this lesson!”

He bounces on his toes, twiddles his fingers against the wall but says nothing further. I can’t expect perfect calm behavior in Time Out today, he’s still a bit silly with sugar. He can, however, stand there quietly. Five minutes pass and when he looks my direction with hurt puppy dog eyes, I make a show of looking down at the book in my hands. I’m not going to play into the sympathy gaining ploy either. I look back up when I hear him bang his head against the wall. “No hurting yourself,” I remind him.

He waits another WHOLE two minutes, until he sees me reading again, then he kicks at the wall with his pristinely white sneaker. Seriously? I glance up and level a glare of disbelief at him. Looking right at me, he lifts his foot and thumps it against the wall and gives me the tiniest of smirks as if daring me to stop him. I really MUST speak to his mother!

I take a deep steadying breath and rise from my chair. I don’t walk to him immediately, as I suspect he thinks I was going to, instead I walk slowly to the drawer where I keep a paddle. I finally turn to him and when he sees what I’m carrying back to my chair, the smug grin on his face slides right off. I raise my hand at him and shake a finger when I see he’s about to talk again. “Stay quiet, you have five more minutes. At the end of that time you’re going to be paddled for that naughty demonstration of Will, young man AND THEN we’ll discuss your absolutely insane behavior this week.”

 

His eyes narrow, regarding me- sizing up my seriousness. I calmly take a seat, lay the paddle in my lap and pick up my book again. Thankfully he seems to deduce that I am DEAD serious about this and completes the remainder of his time without further incident. When the timer does ring he waits until I call him over. He takes his place in front of me with his hands behind his back, feet apart, back straight, and eyes to the floor. I regard him silently for a few more long minutes. I see him glance to my hand resting on the paddle and I catch the slight tremor in his bottom lip. His smartass brain has walked him right into the firing line again and I’m sure he regrets it.

I finally pat my lap for him to take his place over it, pick up the paddle and watch my boy slide right into desperation. He shakes his head ever so slightly, not wanting to push me further but not wanting to be hided either. He looks so sad, so sorry that most people would likely fall for it and simply forgive him. That’s the trouble. He’s always been good at getting away with bad behavior- either they felt sorry for him or more likely as not, just didn’t want to deal with him. I am not an enabler. He’s earned this paddling and I have every intention of delivering it. He may not thank me now, although I could order him to, of course, but hopefully someday he’ll see it’s for his own good. “Get those clothes off and get over my lap, now.”

My dry command reanimates him. The white sneakers are quickly kicked off, jeans slid down and removed, purple shirt laid across the back of the sofa along with his jeans and he scurries towards me, draping his body across my lap without further delay. The only article of clothing between his backside and the paddle will be his underpants. I lay a hand against him and rest it there pressing down on his shoulders. He shivers at my touch.

I ask, as I always do, “Why are you being paddled?”

“I don’t know, John, because you WANT to?”

This won’t do. I slam the paddle to the soft, white material covering his ass and he yelps in surprise. “You know why you are being paddled, young man. Enough with your naughty little games today.”

He grunts stubbornly through several more heated swats. Finally he announces, “I kicked the wall?”

“You don’t sound certain, let me remind you that you can also get further Time Out if I need you to think this over.”

He shudders at the thought of more corner time and answers properly, “I kicked the wall, John.”

“Yes, you did. Is that an obedient boy’s behavior in the corner?”

A bit of a wiggle knowing his answer will signal the start of his paddling, Sherlock whispers, “No, John, it’s not. I’m sorry.”

I know it’s something no Sub wants to hear but I say it anyway because of the effect it will have on him, “You WILL be sorry.”

I smack his ass and he’s driven forward against my leg. I deliver several more in quick succession. Each one is fast, hard and loud in our flat. He hasn’t made another sound yet but he will, eventually. I just have to get him there. Guide him past this little rebellion.

He won’t want the underpants down so I slowly peel them towards his feet relishing the pink globes now displayed In front of me. The cool air makes him shudder. I run a hand along the plumping flesh and receive a hiss.

“I know you might not believe this, but I don’t like having to punish you. Yes, I do enjoy hurting you when you are also enjoying it. This, though, is an unpleasant duty. You better straighten up, young man. I mean it. Or I will be applying this paddle to your ass every time you step out of line.” 

I reiterate my stance on the Time Out rules by pounding his ass in time with my words, “You will stand in the corner quietly. You will NOT (extra hard whack) move around, make faces, noises of unhappiness and boredom and you will NOT defy me by kicking at the wall. You earn EVERY Time out and you WILL spend the time to think about your behavior! That is what is expected of an obedient, little boy!”

He’s stamping his toes into the floor as I continue to chastise him with the paddle. Short gasps are escaping him as he struggles over my lap, head down in his hands. His bottom is a deep red and I move to concentrate the last few strokes to his sit spots and upper thighs. His sounds shift into high gear as the pain explodes across his most sensitive parts. A hand flies back to cover himself and he tries to rise. I shift his weight off his toes and to keep from face planting his hand drops to the floor, bracing. I don’t even give him a moment’s break. I’m tired of the same old arguments and misbehavior. My point WILL be driven home this time.

“Tell me how a good boy stands in the corner for Time Out!”

He doesn’t like to answer. I know this and use it to my advantage. If he answers right away then I’ll know he’s still with me, thinking it over. He lifts his face from his hand, sniffling but each swat adds a grunt behind each word. “Ah, stand in the … ow… corner quietly! D do not move or ah make faces. Ow ow, do not kick the wall! Ow please, John… I I’m sorry!”

Two more very hard swats to each sit spot finishes it up. He lies across my lap limply now. I give him the time to sort himself out while rubbing big circles into his back. Very slowly his breathing calms and he wiggles to get to his knees next to my feet. For a moment he glances up at me and he looks exactly like a well punished boy, his eyes red and wet.

“I don’t know what’s been going on this past week but your behavior- to be specific, your little temper tantrums, your pushing at the boundaries… the violin attacks at two A.M.”

“You love the violin,” He murmurs into my knee.

“NOT at TWO in the morning! I do love listening to you compose or play something but what you’ve been doing could be called skinning a cat.”

A soft, shy smile crosses his face briefly but he quickly hides it with my leg. Too late though, I’ve seen it. “Explain yourself, young man.”

A deep sigh. He doesn’t want to tell me. I nudge his face with my knee very gently. He looks up at me, his wet eyes twinkling. “You DO like the violin playing!”

What the heck? I reassure him, “Of course I do!”

“And my compositions, you like those too?”

“Sherlock, seriously? What is going on?”

He lowers his head again and says something into my jeans.

“Look at me and tell me, young man. No more games.”

Tears are rolling down his face. He looks almost serenely happy but sad and scared at the same time. His voice is so soft it’s a good thing I’m leaning forward to hear him.

“S Sally said I’m still a freak. That you don’t really love me… how could anybody love some THING like me?”

For all the world it is a real struggle to stay here listening to his broken hearted sobbing. I want to leap up and go find that bitch to punch her in the face. Greg MIGHT try to restrain me but I kind of doubt it. I caress my boy’s face and think about the buildup in his behavior. It dawns on me I have been one of his experiments again. He has been testing whether or not he can drive me away.

“Did you figure out the data you needed?”

He looks startled a moment. He nods quietly and clears his throat to tell me, “Results verified. You’re not going anywhere.”

I tweak his nose playfully, “You idiot. Please stop listening to that hideous woman. You ARE different to be sure! You are a real challenge! But you are no freak and I LOVE you no matter what! Now do I have to beat my words into your ass?”

“No, John! But...” His hesitation seems heavy with expectation. I finish for him.

“But what about your naughty behavior this week… the experiment?”

Sherlock deduces me with a keen eye catching every nuance of my bearing and look. He knows when I’ve decided to let him slide. He hugs my knees.  
I hold up a hand to stop him, “Whoa there, young man. You are not getting away with anything. I’m not going to spank you any further but I think a whole week of chores is justified!”

He hangs his head again in defeat. My poor boy. I love him so much it hurts. I can’t wait to share his birthday present with him.

oooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sherlock:

My ass is on fire but it’s a small price to pay for the knowledge I’ve gained. John really isn’t going anywhere. He is now being too much of a domestic mother hen though, fluttering around me incessantly chattering and invading my space. To be quite frank, I like it better when he’s a bit miffed at me. At least he’s not so damn annoying and sentimental. He’s brought me a third cup of tea even though I poured the first two into the new planter- without his knowledge, insisted I get a cream rubbed into my sore ass, and is currently judging every facial expression and movement to see if I need anything.  
“John, weren’t you going into the clinic today?” I try to keep the hope from being too evident in my voice.

“I called in,” He tells me from the kitchen. The frown I send his way is gone as soon as he enters the room. “You were quite ill from too much sugar this morning, remember?”

Ugh. I remember. I never want another chocolate biscuit or soda ever again. How Americans survive on such rubbish I’ll never understand. “Yes, of course.”

He enters the sitting room carrying his lunch, his newspaper and laptop. He intends to write then so maybe I’ll catch a break. He beacons me with his head. My fingers twitch ever so slightly in annoyance. I want to be engaged with my next experiment but honestly don’t need John hovering here in the flat for it. I approach him, trying my best not to lose my temper. It wouldn’t bode well for me if I did.

“Yes, John?”

“The kitchen floor could use a good cleaning and the cupboards too. Don’t give me that look. It’s either that, which will help you burn off even more of that excess energy, or a trip upstairs for the cane. I’m letting you choose your punishment for the inappropriate behavior.”

Keep a civil tongue! Fire rolls from my belly outwards to finger and toe tips. Once it passes I can trust my mouth again. If I were a dragon- which I have strange dreams sometimes that I am- John would have been scorched into a fine powdery dust. “After those chores are completed may I PLEASE work on something?”

John looks up from the laptop, nibbling on toast and jam. He looks pleased with me which means I’m doing something right for once. “You said please without too much sarcasm. Certainly, you may do whatever you’d like after that work is done.”

I enter the kitchen and look at the floor. There are burned streaks still that can probably come off with a bit of strong scrubbing. I do not intend to sit on my knees and scrub for two hours though. I will find an easier solution. A few minutes later I discover that pouring acid over the scorches is not really a brilliant strategy. The streaks are gone certainly but now the floor is melted in large holes. I’ll need to fill those or cover them with something. I recall there is a lovely Persian rug sitting in the entry way. Taking a peek at John I find he is well engrossed into his writing. A gorilla could stroll past him in his current state and he’d miss it. I’m safe. I sneak out the kitchen door, snatch up the little rug from the hallway and dash back to the flat before he knew I was gone. I set the rug over the holes and it looks fine. In fact it brings color to the small room. That will be my excuse to John as to its sudden appearance.

Now to the cupboards. John can’t see into the top two shelves anyway. All I need to do is remove and restack items from the bottom shelf. I decide, since this also only takes a few minutes, to keep a few plates out to bang together every once in a while to convince John that I’m still tidying. One more glance at John and I see with his back to me that he’s still hard at work. I take my place at the microscope and set up a new slide. Each time I hear John cough or move I rattle the plates a little. He never suspects a thing.

Close to an hour later, I hear some commotion from him so I jump up quickly hiding the plates I’ve been using. I drop back into my chair just as he enters the kitchen with his empty plate and cup and laptop. He yawns and smiles at me. Looking around, he nods to himself and places his used items in the sink. He turns to me and sits with his laptop resting now on the table.

“So you cleaned the floor and the cupboards, Sherlock?”

I nod, trying to keep my full attention on the slide. I jot a few notes on the pad beside me. “Yes, John.”

“Sherlock?”

Uh oh. My heart thuds at the top of my throat. I hope he can’t see it. I know he can’t. He never observes anything….wait, except he does observe signs I’ve been less than honest with him. Damn it. I try to hide my shaking hand by putting down the pen.

I look up innocently, feigning interest. “Yes, John?”

“I’m going to show you a video on my laptop alright? When it is complete… yes, you may fast forward through the BORING bits… I want you to come find me.”

Alarmed at his ominous tone, I ask what any guilty feeling bad boy asks, “Why?”

He smiles warmly again and slides his laptop to me. He doesn’t even bother unlocking the screen. He knows I will figure out his new password anyway. He stands and as he leaves he says, “I think you will understand when you see the video.”

I frown at him and watch him leave the room. I hear him on the stairs and understand at once I’ve been caught in my little scheme. But what is the video? I open his laptop, find the video in question is waiting for me and press play. It’s then that I remember exactly how cunning John can be. His chair has the back to the kitchen giving his laptop a good view of the kitchen in its camera. John is at the side of the screen as he records my actions. Each time I glanced in on him when I thought he was working he smirks and laughs silently. The part of cleaning out the cupboards I skip through until I find him simply nearly losing it, laughing so hard he has to cover his face. The image is shaking. I back track a bit then turn up the volume. He has just coughed and then in the video… I see myself at the microscope rattle the plates followed by John’s reaction.

He’s caught me all right. Tomorrow’s my birthday though so maybe I can convince him he shouldn’t cane me. I’m not feeling very confident as I head up the stairs to my doom and destruction.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooo  
JOHN: 

“How do you feel this morning, birthday boy?” I ask Sherlock. He’s lying on his stomach, his pale body a sharp contrast to his striped, swollen bottom. Even I flinch when he moves to look over his shoulder at me and hisses in pain.

“I’m fine,” He tries to tell me. He looks as though he hasn’t slept well. He probably didn’t with such a sore ass. I push down any sympathy I’m feeling. He deserved every stripe he received.

“Right, you need some more cream on that,” I answer. I sit next to him, grab the jar next to our bed and proceed to massage globs of it into his ass. He wiggles in response, trying to get away. “Stop that, lie still.”

“It stings, Johhhhn,” He whines. Big baby. I ignore his protests. When I finish the marks are a little less angry looking. It is still quite evident he’s been punished however. I smirk and swat his bottom very gently.

“Of course it stings. Now get up, I thought you might like to shower together and get our day started!”

Sulking still, he pulls the sheet back over his body and tucks his head under the pillow. A muffled complaint can be heard but not the actual words.

“It’s a SPECIAL day, remember?”

The pillow shakes an answer of no. I grab the sheet and whip it off. Sherlock curls into a fetal position with his hand over the pillow pressing it into his ear. I swear I hear ‘LALALA I can’t hear you!’ I know that’s my imagination but it does fit his current behavior perfectly.

I crawl up into the bed, and lie on top of him. I lift the edge of the pillow and bellow at him. “Time to rise and shine, pretty boy! I have plans for you!”

He shifts the pillow and I see one eye focusing on me now. He grunts as he tries to twist beneath me. He grumbles, “Ugh, you’ve gained more weight, John. Maybe you should lay off the extra jam awhile.”

“Not putting me off that easily,” I tell him. I’m determined he will not ruin the day I have planned for us. I’d rather kill him than punish him today.

As he turns his head his eyes widen. He asks, his voice filling with suspicion, “You look like a crazed lunatic plotting some government’s overthrow, John. What are you planning to do to ME?”

I bark a little laugh and shrug. “Maybe I’m plotting some government’s overthrow.”

I struggle to stay on top of him as he turns over onto his back. He has to reach beneath me to shift his cock cage a bit and I lift up just a bit to allow him to do so. He’s worn it a good solid two months with only short breaks for teasing or cleaning and I’m certain he’s hoping part of my plans include allowing him to cum. I’m not so certain about that, I’m still considering it.

He shakes his head and puts his arms around me. “No you are NOT, John Hamish Watson. You are up to no good, certainly. But it has to do with me, not the government of say Peru.”

“Humble much?”

“Come on, give, John.”

I place a finger over his lips as I tell him firmly, “I’ve worked too hard to keep everything a surprise from you. Or fine, stay here and never find out. Shame to miss it.”

I leap up and head towards the shower. Within moments Sherlock joins me under the warm spray. I kiss him on the jaw delighting in the light stubble there. He kisses me gruffly and grumbles a good morning at me. “Don’t sulk or you can get out,” I tell him.

“It’s too early, John,” Sherlock answers back, rolling his eyes. I swear sometimes I want to double check the birth records because he acts like a bratty teenager.

“It’s NOT early at all. In fact it’s almost eight,” I point out to him. He grumbles incoherently and yawns. “Say that again, please.”

“Eight IS TOO early for a Saturday,” He says as he closes his eyes, letting the spray wash his face. Chuckling, I lean up and caress his jawline.

“You need a proper shave, baby, before today’s events.”

“Events?” He asks, one eye popping open just a smidge to regard me. “As in, MORE than one?”

I throw my arms around him, slapping at his wet ass. He spins away, laughing. “No,” I tell him shaking a finger as he retreats a step out of reach. “No guessing.”

He plasters his back to the wall and directs the water spray at me with his hand. “Awwww, John, there’s no fun in ACTUALLY being surprised. The fun is trying to deduce what is going to occur before hand!”

Curiosity peeked, I directed him, “Ok, let’s hear it. What are you thinking MIGHT happen today?”

He rolls his eyes at me as if I’m picking something far too easy for him. He starts with his ‘deduction report’, even in the same tone he uses with Greg, “A birthday party at a location other than Angelo’s. He’s booked tonight to cater a large party for an unnamed gentleman but the restaurant will still be open to the public. You’ve purchased a 40 person cake from down the street, purple roses and Happy Birthday, Sherlock on top. I reviewed your receipts when you weren’t looking. Don’t glare that way. I’m pretty certain you’ve ordered a gift through Mycroft’s tailor but I’m not 100% on that. He could have purchased me something himself although I sincerely doubt that. Whatever you did buy for me I have deduced you’ve kept it with Greg. I did check all your usual hiding places. By the way I found a gift from a few years ago that fell behind the borough, still wrapped. Thank you for the pen, I’ll enjoy it. What I want to know is, is there the ONE event then- dinner somewhere? Or more?”

He’s fallen for the false bait and I’m so surprised I nearly give myself and the real plans away. I feign a deeply perplexed tone, “Damn it, Sherlock. How am I supposed to surprise you?”

He shrugs and adds, “You can’t.”

Hehe. Challenge accepted. I move on by telling him, “Well, still you need to have a nice, close shave. Come here I’ll do it for you.”

He pops open his shaving cream tin and I spread across his face with the brush. He’s sees that I’m having to reach up too far and leans forward for me. He lets his eyes drift close as I use his razor to swiftly remove the light stubble. His sharp cheekbones are shiny and clean once again. I use a wash cloth to rinse remaining dots of foam from his chin. Titling his head back I work on his neck too. As I rinse this area he seems peaceful and calm. Maybe even just a bit sleepy still.

When I grab the cock cage his eyes shoot open and he nearly loses his balance from the surprise. “Steady there. Taking this off for a good wash.” I remove the key from the chain around my neck, lean over and remove the cage and metal ring gently. His moan is luscious music to my ears. He’s obviously hungry for attention. I splash water over his still soft member and balls. Then use my fingers to work in some lather there across his pubes as well as on his ball sack. His eyebrow arches upwards and he looks at me uncertainly as I raise the razor to the area.

“Ok,” he drawls, dazed and aroused, “This, I wasn’t expecting.”

“Good to see I CAN surprise you,” I remark dryly. I drag the razor slowly and he stares down at himself with interest. It takes several long minutes but I have denuded him of most of his pubic hair. His cock has risen from my attention to the area.

He laughs softly as he runs a hand over baby soft skin, “It’s been a while since I was bald down there. I kind of like it.”

“Mmmm, me too,” I tell him. I sound a bit lecherous as I add, “May keep you this way, little boy. Remind you who’s the grown up around here; who’s in charge.”

His eyes glaze over as I pet his now hairless crotch. His cock weeps a drop from its slit and I gather it on my finger tip and taste it. A shudder runs through him.

Teasing him more, rubbing and tickling his cock as it bobs helplessly in front of me, I work him into a quivering frenzy. Having been denied two months already it is an easy thing to accomplish. I swat it hard and he arches his back pushing it out front for more of the same torture. I’m ready to oblige. I swat him again, this time moving upwards to strike first to the sensitive glans. He hisses and wiggles deliciously.

“Hmm we’re running out of hot water, Sherlock.”

I step carefully out of the shower stall, gently turning him fully to the temperate spray. I slip my hands beneath his balls, lifting and shifting them firmly. His sounds of pleasure gurgle through his open, slack mouth. I don’t think he could have spoken even if he had needed to. So I’ll do all the speaking.

“There ARE several events today, baby, and this is just the first of many fun things I’m going to do to you, my naughty little one.”

I turn on the cold water full force and back away as he starts to react with a howl.

“Surprise!” I chuckle at him. He really should know better than to trust me! "And Happy Birthday!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil, John, evil.


	17. Birthday Bash 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEY, CHAPTER 14 is the NEW CHAPTER.
> 
> It's Sherlock's Birthday. John has a few surprises in store for him.
> 
> There's something NEW at the end- BC fans will fangirl. Block your ears.
> 
> # Needles, OTK spanking, hot wax

Sherlock:

I swear my heart has stopped. Evil of John to freeze me to death then to call me into the bedroom for more of his special attention. I enter our room wrapped in four towels and I tell you, the crazy maniac actually busts out laughing. He’s standing by the bed and points to it to indicate I am to lie down upon it. I make no move to do what he’s asked.

“I’m still cold,” I explain my reluctance.

“You are mistaken if you think I’m asking,” John tells me. He’s smiling and it’s so stealthy of him. Normally I’m the one that is stealthy when I smile. His look conveys the joy of a true madman with a devious plan. My heart is thumping. I drop my towels and climb onto the bed under his watchful eye. My cock responds to the rush of adrenaline as though it were being heavily petted instead of just observed.

Once I’m in place he points to the headboard. I take ahold of the wooden bars and wait as he turns away silently. He reaches in a bag and pulls out a tub of cake frosting and a tube of the colored frosting with the writing tip as well. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Really? This sentiment may kill me today.

“It’s for your birthday,” Says John as though I’m a true idiot. I nod my understanding and keep my sarcasm to myself. I’m still very sore from last evening’s caning I had begged on my knees not to receive. “Do you look forward to your next birthday activity, baby boy?”

I’m going to die. This is the end of Sherlock Holmes. “Yes, John.”

“Hmmm, I’m changing my standing order for this… call me Daddy.”

OH GOOD LORD! I try to keep the scornful look off my face but he notices it anyway.

“If you refuse, Daddy can always spank his naughty little boy and put him in time out until he complies.”

If I thought it was hard to answer earlier, I was greatly mistaken. As soon as I start to reply properly my face heats to an inferno.

“Yes….Daddy.”

“Oh look at that! Your cock is dripping for me, baby boy.”

Damn piece of flesh. It never does what I want. It’s standing as tall as a flag pole and it’s waving around for his attention. It is weeping copious amounts of precum anyway and as soon as I call John my Daddy it pulses out of me like a damn fountain. I whimper from frustration and impatience.

John takes mercy on me and takes a seat on the side of the bed, his back mostly to me. I watch him pop open the frosting and my cock is definitely paying attention. He starts to very slowly cover my pubic area with chocolate frosting, starting across the pubic bone, moving across to my inner thighs and finally as he scoops up another large glob he takes ahold of my balls and covers them. My cock is a now a pale white staff in a sea of dark brown. He turns and smiles seductively at me, licking his lips.

Oh God. Please have mercy and kill me now. Lightning strike. Flood. Heart Attack. Don’t let me suffer like this! My plea to God is ignored. John grabs the base of my cock with one hand and paints the entire thing in a thick layer of frosting. The pleasure rockets through my body making my toes curl.

John tuts at me, “Don’t you DARE cum! If you do without permission I promise you it will be your NEXT birthday before you come again!”

I’m quivering jelly. That’s all that’s left of me. One big ball of gelatinous goo- nothing but one big, highly sensitive nerve. “Yes, Daddy. Sorry. It just feels so good!”

“Hmmmm, poor baby. I know it feels good. Just obey, daddy.”

He wipes his hands off on one of the towels I had dropped and opens the tube of frosting for decorating and writing. It’s a lovely pure white so that it will contrast well with the chocolate. Very wise of daddy. Gently without touching me further he starts to write in his ornate penmanship. I can’t read what it says. When he is finished he stands up and looks it over. More man juice leaks from me onto his creation. He smirks and takes a taste of it onto his finger. Watching him enjoying himself makes me feel warm all over.

 

“I want you to see what it says and to keep this in photographic evidence in case you ever slip out of line I can post it on my blog.” He says.

The look of horror I send his way amuses him further. I’m not certain if he is serious or just fucking with my head. He also ignores my silent plea. He dips down to pull something from the bed stand drawer and I see at once it is his mobile phone. My heart drops and I’m nearly crying. I don’t really understand why. He clicks several pictures, takes a moment to edit them then leaning towards me, shows one to me. He’s written Happy Birthday, Sherlock across my chocolate covered pubic bone and Property of Daddy on the shaft of my cock. I feel the heat rise across my chest and face again.

“John, please…”

Smirking, he thumbs his phone off and replaces it in the drawer. “You are such a lovely shade of red, baby boy. Goes well with the frosting. Too bad I’m going to have to clean that off now.”

He walks around to the end of the bed and I spread my legs as wide as I can for him. Taking his place, he lays down, face only inches from my aching cock. “YOU MAY NOT CUM! Understood??” He inquires.

I whisper, “Yes, Daddy.”

I get a pinch to my thigh in return. I repeat myself louder. Obviously the correct response, John grasps my balls, lifts them and begins licking the frosting off. My worry about being exposed on the internet flees my mind as the first waves of pleasure hit me. He’s sucking and nibbling too. I feel him take one ball entirely in his mouth and he rolls it around in the lava pit. My mind explodes in pretty colors. He drops it and takes in the other. This is going to be an impossible mission- not cumming. 

“Oh God! PLEASE JOHN!”

I feel him chuckle at my outburst. “Naughty boy.”

I’m quaking as I feel him take my ball sack into his mouth and feel him apply teeth. Within seconds I understand he’s about to punish me. I grit my teeth and wait for the painful bite. The wait is just as excruciating. Finally his teeth clamp down hard and I gasp, nearly bringing my hands down to push him away. Thankfully I just grip the bars all that much harder to avoid further punishment that surely would have followed had I actually touched him.

John asks, “What did I tell you to call me, bad boy?”

“Daddy! I meant Daddy. I swear I did! Please, please, please, DADDY, this is TOO much. I can’t… I NEED to cum so badly.”

“Too bad. Now remember your place.”

My position in our relationship is to be submissive to John. In work of course that’s another story. Here in bed I need to remember who’s in charge. Right now, I can’t even think straight. “I will, daddy. I remember my place.”

“Mmmmm, good, baby. Now hold still as I get the rest of this off!” His tongue and mouth attack me over and over. As he works to “clean” me off in the pubic area and inner thighs, I begin to buck into his face. But being devious he’s not pleasuring my cock yet. As soon as he’s finished these areas, he looks up at me. I strain to keep my head up to look him directly in the eyes. He’s flushed with pleasure and I’m certain he too is rock hard. “I’m going to add a few bite marks down here, boy. Not as punishment now, as marks of my ownership.”

I let my head drop back onto the pillows as I cry out from the first hard bite to my inner thigh. He sucks and licks at it. He places a matching one on the other side. The pain makes me hiss and tremble beneath him.

FINALLY, he grips my cock and begins the laborious task of removing the frosting. Each time his tongue takes a long swipe I nearly become unhinged. The last part will be the head. He pauses to let me catch my breath then very efficiently he applies such a light touch with his tongue that it tickles. I scream from the pleasure! OH MY GOD!!!!! I am one lick away from completion! I feel it cresting, my balls rising! He’s no longer touching but I’m not certain that matters. I fight hard to stop myself. I hump air.

When my senses return I know I’ve been successful in fighting it off. The softening process feels absolutely awful. I twitch helplessly and moan in frustration. My balls are so full I’m certain they may actually burst.

“Let’s wipe you off a bit, then get that cage back on!”

John quickly stands, goes into the bathroom to fetch a COLD wet cloth and proceeds to wipe me quickly, not bringing much pleasure at all. Once he is satisfied my cock is truly free of the frosting he manhandles me back into the cock cage. He pats my thigh gently and tells me to get up, that we’re going to enjoy some nice breakfast.

I rise onto slightly unsteady legs and follow him out into the kitchen. He commands me to stand in position next to the table to wait for him. As the kitchen is warm I have a hard time understanding why I’m shivering. He adjusts my stance just a bit by running his hand up my spine, making me straighten even more. My hands are clasped tightly behind my head. As he begins to bang around on pots and pans I try to get a better grasp of my self-control. I should be better able to handle this.

“I HEAR you thinking, baby boy. I want you to just watch me cook,” John orders without even turning to me. 

“I WAS just watching,” I grumble very quietly.

He spins towards me so quickly I nearly jump back and lose my position. He’s angry and I’m trying not to babble an apology. Damn Mouth!

He shakes a finger half an inch from my nose, his eyes full of fire, voice steady and cold as he scolds, “You WILL NOT be sarcastic today, little boy! You will ONLY speak when you are asked a question and then only answer with ABSOLUTE respect! YOU step out of line and each time will earn you swats to your already sore bum! NOW TURN AROUND TO RECEIVE YOUR REMINDER!”

Tears prickle my eyes. Obediently I turn and offer my ass to him. The swats are indeed hard and fast, punishing flesh already marked by the recent caning. I yelp after each one. Five in total renew the fire, the next five add petrol to the flames. 

“Now turn back to your position.”

John does not remark further as I return to facing him. He simply frowns at me, looking me over then he turns away to finish cooking the meal. It’s quite an elaborate one and even though I hate eating very much I’m certain I will be expected to eat what he’s fixed. He reaches and brings down just one plate however. I observe this, a bit confused. He takes his seat at the table next to me.

“Kneel down next to me,” John orders. I take my new position on my knees by his feet. He doesn’t say another word nor does he look at me. He starts to eat as he reads through the paper.

I must admit the food he’s cooked smells divine and my rebellious stomach growls. He glances at me only briefly. I wiggle in the pleasure of his attention. In a moment however he flicks his eyes back to the paper. I feel bereft and lonely suddenly. A whimper slides between my teeth. His hand rises from his lap and lays upon my head, scratching behind an ear. It feels delightful. If this is heaven, I’m glad I died.

Ten minutes pass and he’s completed his meal and his reading apparently. He stands, drops his plate into the sink and then regards me still by his chair. “Now to feed my little pet.”

If he wants I’ll bark, beg- whatever. I just want to be touched with such love again. He opens a bag I hadn’t noticed on the counter and takes out an honest to god can of wet dog food. I swallow but say nothing. I’m determined to be good and not earn more spanks. He looks for the can opener and once he locates it he opens the can and lets it plop out into a doggie bowl that he produced from the same bag. He sets the bowl on the floor, retrieves a bowl from our cupboards and fills this one with water then sets it down next to the first. He snaps his fingers and pats his leg. Like a good, obedient dog I go to him at once.

“Time to eat,” John orders.

Without one qualm or refusal, I eat what he’s placed on the floor for me. I know it is perfectly safe food to eat and it tastes like beef stew anyway, only beefier somehow. It’s actually delicious and I lick the bowl clean. I know my face has dog food on it but I don’t care. All I hear is John’s approval and his order to lap up some water. My tongue dips repeatedly until I feel my thirst quenched. When I’m through he holds a napkin in front of me and holds still as I wipe my face onto it without taking it into my own hands.

I belong to John. I don’t feel so scared and I relish my mind being so calm and open. He rubs my head again and I lean into his leg enjoying the connection. This is the relationship I dreamed of. And all it has taken is for me to let go of the final remnants of control – to obey. I’m NEVER going to lose this. I will fight to keep this forever.

**************************

John orders me to follow him into the sitting room. I understand at once that I am to crawl. I hope it pleases him that I don’t need him to inform me. I keep in a position at his heel and even kneel up at his side as he takes a seat in his usual chair. He tugs me forward by my hair so that I may rest my face in his lap. Quietly, possessively he strokes my temple, murmuring at me. I sigh and close my eyes.

“That’s my good boy,” says my John. We belong to each other.

After a few blissful minutes he pushes me back with his knee. I resume my position and listen for his next orders. Surprisingly they don’t come, instead he lifts his laptop from the table beside him and starts to tap away on it. This then is perhaps another test of my obedience. I must be patient and wait. I grip my lower lip in my teeth, determined to succeed at a task I normally fail within a few minutes.

I can hear the clock on the wall and John’s watch ticking. I become aware of each muscle struggling, tensing and releasing as I try to stay still. I follow the pattern in the chair fabric with my eyes until I feel a bit sleepy and peaceful. This isn’t so bad. I manage a peek at his watch. I’ve been in place less than three minutes. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. I bite back on a sigh. I’m NOT going to fail!

“Stay strong, baby,” John murmurs, still writing. I straighten up at the sound of his voice, lock my eyes on his lap and concentrate.

There’s birds singing outside. I’ve never in all my years noticed them and it takes me by surprise. Me? I observe EVERYTHING! How is it I have never heard them singing just outside the window? What else have I missed? I flick my eyes at John’s sweater. It has a spot unraveling. I will tell him later. I close my eyes again, sensing and seeking finally without my brain dropping in the data intrusively. The faucet is dripping in the kitchen. I’ll fix it this evening if given the chance. John’s tapping at about 45 words per minute which is damn impressive, I think. I want so much to tell him how much I admire him that I open my eyes and look fully into his face. After a moment, he feels the stare and smiles at me.

“Yes?”

“Your typing skills are quite impressive, um, daddy.”

He nods a thank you then continues with his work. I’m so pleased with myself that I feel warm and giddy all over like a soft tingling. I close my eyes again and decide just to breathe. Counting it in and then releasing it in a controlled manner the way I was taught long ago when I used to have crippling panic attacks. My body still finally, my mind blanks completely.

“Sherlock? I said you could rise and wait for me in the bedroom.”

Startled, my eyes fly open. He’s standing next to me, one hand ruffling my hair. I stammer, “How long was I asleep?”

A gentle laugh meets my question as I rise. “You stayed in position beautifully. You were not asleep, baby. I don’t think you were in your mind palace either.”

“I wasn’t,” I tell him. “How long were you typing?”

“Nearly an hour! You didn’t fuss once! I’m very happy for you. That was amazing.”

This time the blush was not from embarrassment. It is from a profound feeling of accomplishment and the joy of being praised.

“An hour?” I ask astounded.

“An hour!” He restates. When I grab him off his feet in a warm bear hug he playfully swats my head. “You idiot, put me down! Go to the bedroom!”

I put him down carefully, lean forward to kiss him on the jaw, and then bolt to bedroom. I’m not sure my feet actually touch the floor- I am flying on happiness. He follows behind me, laughing.

***********************************************************

“Bend over the side of the bed,” John demands the moment he walks in. Without discussion, I do as I am told. He strides to the bedside table, produces a bottle of lube and takes his place behind me, kicking my legs further apart to his liking. 

I lay my head on the bed and only have a short wait before I feel him pressing one then two lubed fingers into my hole. I grunt as he stretches me firmly and quickly. This is the way he enjoys my body. Fast and hard. If he wants me to talk in this moment he will receive only gibberish. Within moments, two more fingers push into me- opening me for his cock’s intrusion. I am panting and trying to keep my hips still. My cock strains in its cage. Thankfully I can’t rub its hunger away on the bed.

He grabs me by my hair, yanking my head back as he thrusts hard into me, skewering me with his cock. I grunt from the burn of the stretch. It is glorious. Pain and pleasure mixing into a deadly combination of passion. He fucks me then, taking what he wants. Again, I am in Heaven. Each thrust builds the heat in my belly and my balls want to explode all over the sheets. I move with his rhythm driving him deeper, gripping him to resist his exit. His sounds become animalistic and when he actually bites my shoulder I feel my body shudder around him. A dry orgasm is not as strong as a regular one but it is a very pleasant feeling nonetheless. He comes inside me then, thrusting then holding perfectly still as he moans his way through it around my skin.

“Amazing, baby boy,” John says as he licks over the bite mark. “Crawl up in the bed and let’s rest a bit. We have a long day ahead of us.”

I’m so tired now that crawling really doesn’t describe how I get into the bed. I more or less fall into it. He snuggles in behind me and we both fell asleep.

******************************************************************

Two hours later and I watch as he drags the heavy toy bag to the door. My purple shirt and dress trousers feel too confining and I want them off and into my leather gear now. Maybe I’m just a touch whiny when I tell him I want to wear the leather to the club instead of changing there.

“Turn around,” He remarks dryly. 

I turn and realize too late that smacks are due. His hand seems hard as steel and I try not to cry out from this brusque reminder to obey him. “REMEMBER.YOUR. PLACE.”

Trembling ever so slightly, I answer meekly, “Yes, John.”

 

I start to turn but he grabs my arm and keeps me in spanking position. “I TOLD you to call me Daddy! I expect obedience!” His hand swats me ten more times. When he finishes I wait to be told I may move. My eyes are wet. I don’t like this failure on my part.

He wipes a tear away with his hand, straightens my shirt and then nods. I know I must pick up the bag and precede him down the stairs. Once outside I will hail the cab, hold the door open for him and announce our destination. Already sore, the cab ride is going to torture me. I chide myself to do better.

**********************************************

I observe the ‘reserved’ sign hanging on the outer club door as we are ushered inside. The club is packed tonight and the energy is palatable. I watch the club owner, Edward, making his way over to us. He is beaming at John and completely ignoring me.

“All is set, John, as you requested.”

John shakes hands then points a corner out to me, “Change into your leather. I’m staying in my suit tonight. But bring your collar to me.”

I quickly shuck my clothes off, fold them and put them into a plastic bag for safe keeping until I can change after the session. He has packed ankle and cuff restraints, my posture collar and a chest harness. I slip into the leather restraints and harness but carry my collar to him. All eyes feel like they are on me as John lifts the collar to my neck and secures it with a tiny brass lock. He clips a leash to the front O ring and there is an unnerving cheer. They WERE all watching us.

He sees my puzzled look and deigns to reassure me, “All invited guests for your birthday bash.”

The way he says bash makes me think there’s going to be lots of hitting tonight. Just as I think it, a long snaking line appears, each person holding some sort of implement. John takes a seat at the very end of it on an armless chair. He smiles at me like royalty and waves me forward. “Come here, very slowly. There are 38 people in this line, baby. Each one will give you one smack. One for each year of your life.”

 

I tuck my hands up behind my head out of everyone’s way, lock eyes on John- my destination and step into the fray. The first one swatting me- damn hard- is Edward. The smack is so loud it cracks through the room. I know every man in this line but only keep my focus on John. Each one is painful. It takes sheer will power not to turn away from each blow. It is slow going and my ass is ablaze by the time I’m nearing the end. The last person in line, before John, is Greg. I’m praying he’ll be merciful, seeing that I’m already crying but I have no such luck. If anything his paddle catches my sit spot with a nastier bite than on the others. I bark out a yelp and collapse to my knees in front of John.

“Happy birthday, boy.”

I think- don’t say- that I’d rather be miserable on my birthdays for the rest of my life. When he pats his lap for me to drape myself over it I almost want to run. Almost. I’ve done so once before- long ago- and it had resulted in my being chased, lifted and carried by one of the behemoth handlers to John on the stage where I paid a price for my folly with a severe caning. I wouldn’t be doing that again. I move immediately over his lap, my poor sore ass exposed to the party revelers. I let my arms and head dangle limply. Expecting no mercy. 

Smack! The blow from his mean little black paddle- I know it by feel- ripples through my ass. As he continues, the pain turns into a blazing fire. I can’t keep track of the smacks but I’m pretty certain I hear John counting out loud somewhere behind the curtain of agony. I’m sobbing as I feel him finally stop- at 38 I think- and rub my back. As soon as I asume it is finally over, I try to rise but a strong hand holds me still. The paddle swats me one more time, VERY hard on a sit spot and I howl out at its burst of flame on my ass.

“And of course, one to grow on!” He announces above me, gently rubbing some of the pain away. “Now who has those birthday candles?”

***********************************************************************************

I’m laid out on a table, spread eagled. The cage is off and I’m hard enough to drive nails through wood. Thinking back to the session with nails makes me shudder. I hope we’re not doing that tonight. I sense John at my feet as he secures the last of the chain. I watch helplessly as a box of candles is handed to John as well as a box of matches. I feel we don’t really need to celebrate my birthday any further but he seems determined.

The candles are bright and cheery. He lights one, holds it over my chest and lets one drop hit my skin. It feels like an ant bite. Carefully he drips a bit more until he can set the candle in the puddle. It will continue to drip down as it melts. Very quickly the other candles join the first. Pretty soon he has my chest and belly covered in burning candles and hot wax. Each candle quivers and drips on me as I breathe.

“Make a wish, baby,” He tells me. He gives me one Hell of a long time to think of a wish and then he leans over me and blows out the candles. I relax realizing the hot wax torment is over. But when he is handed a large white candle I think my brain overloads.

I’d forgotten how much he enjoys playing with fire. He dribbles it along my side and over each nipple. I moan, hiss and twist as he moves it. He splashes my pubes and then holding it upright a moment, allowing me to totally panic myself in anticipation and for the wax to build into a large quantity, he tosses me a sexy wink. I know my poor unshielded cock and balls are in for it. I grit my teeth but the fiery destruction in my loins rips a shout from me. My cock spasms helplessly beneath the wax. I am very close to climax again. 

I close my eyes and try to catch my breath as the flash of pain dissipates. I feel the table top being cranked so that I’m held upright against it. There’s an uncomfortable tug on my restraints as my body settles. When I open my eyes, I close them again. John is standing in front of me with his sanitizing spray in his gloved hands. Something to do with needles or cutting or God help me, nails, is coming up. If I don’t look at him, it won’t happen right?

I feel him grasp my nipple and I whimper.

“Green, baby?”

“Y yellow, Daddy, “I whisper, my voice trembling. “Give me a moment, please?”

“Certainly, tell me when you are on green.”

It takes a few minutes of quiet breathing to stop feeling dizzy. Nodding calmly, I say, “Green now, Daddy.”

I said it loud enough to be heard and there’s a soft murmur from the audience. John’s smile, when I finally manage to look at him, is full of pride.

The needle is sharp, blazing heat in my chest as it pokes its way through my nipple skin vertically. It is soon joined by two more titling just slightly so that there little capped ends where they normally attach to the syringe are pointing upwards and are nearly touching. The three pokes have added to one massive fire over the nipple. He treats my other nipple to three more needles. As he places them he talks. Not to me but to the audience. He’s explaining his placement I think but I’m a mile high over the Earth listening to his words at a distance. Some poor soul is also crying out and whimpering.

He removes the tiny caps and into each one places a birthday candle. It looks pretty. A very nice touch. He lights them and stands back. The group sings Happy Birthday to the sap being tortured and then sing For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow. Everyone claps and cheers as John blows out the candles.

*********************************************************************************

“You did very well, let’s get that wax off you,” John tells me.

I notice my hands are free from the restraints finally and I shake them awake. He’s pinching the wax off my body and when he grabs my cock I thrust hard into his hand. He chuckles and bats the remaining bits of wax off my cock with his fingers. I nearly cum from the sensation.

I know we are still being watched but people seem now to be milling around with drinks and plates of food. Music is in the background though it’s not the usual trance type stuff. He helps me get down from the tilted table and pulls me into his lap as he sits in a chair.

My head on his shoulder, I nuzzle and kiss there over the collar of his dress shirt. His face is wet from sweat. I giggle at that.

“I think you are still a bit high on endorphins, baby.”

“Mmmmmmm, maybe.” I mumble, then add, "Daddy."

His hand grasps my shaft and begins a slow, powerful stroke. My balls tighten immediately. Panting, I lick along his jawline until we meet at the lips. He devours me, thrusts his tongue into my mouth in time with his hand torturing my needy dick. I’m losing all sense of time and space again. As I rocket towards the ceiling I’m certain only his hand is keeping me tethered to the planet. I wiggle my mouth away just in time to start to enquire with a yelp, “PLEASE, MAY I CUM?”

 

Five torture filled seconds lapse until he confirms I may cum. There’s a sheer blast of energy from my balls, out of my cock then, so powerful I’m certain all of London heard the splatters hitting the damn ceiling and walls like gunshots. I twitch as he caresses me to the very end. I’m pretty sure my cock must be glowing red hot. I see that my cum coats my chest, not the ceiling and I almost laugh insanely. 

 

“That was astounding! Thank you, daddy!’ I kiss John enthusiastically.

 

“Like that did you?” John asks with a grin.

 

“Thought I coated the ceiling in cum,” I answer.

 

“Thought you did too, you screamed so loud!”

************************************************************************************

I’m cleaned up, completely naked and standing next to John. I’ve been fed, watered and heavily petted and teased. I’m happy as a damn lark and I don’t mind telling anyone who’d listens that this sentiment feels great.

John has pulled me to the stage and once everyone is quiet and attentive. He raises a hand. Greg steps forward and hands him something small. I can’t see what it is but it doesn’t matter. I’m to stare ahead and down towards the floor.

But John does something that breaks my concentration. He drops to one knee in front of me and my mouth falls slack. He’s holding up a ring. There is silence you COULD hear a pin drop. I always thought that was just a saying, now I know it is true. The silence was full of expectation. Nobody was even breathing.

My John says to me, looking up into my eyes, “We started as flat mates, became good friends then finally lovers. We’ve had bad times and good ones too. That entire time, Sherlock, you stood by every decision I foolishly made. You’ve tried my patience, you’ve tried pushing me away! Through all of this, the truth remains… though I am not gay, I love you. No label will ever fit any human being anyway. But I DO. LOVE. YOU. I always will, you idiot. So I wanted to prove you are mine forever! Will you marry me, Sherlock?”

It’s a good thing I say yes. If I hadn’t I think John would have choked me out right then and there.

I say again, “Yes, John, I love you! I will marry you!”

John slides the ring on my finger and rose, planting a hard, frenzied kiss to my lips. The audience went insane!

I hear Greg say at a distance, “Finally!”

I do something I’ve NEVER done in my life. I start to cry. As I grasp him, lifting him off his feet I am absolutely beside myself with joy. I embrace this feeling. It invigorates me and awakens emotions I never thought I had. So this… this is REALLY love. I knew the definition. I’ve said before ‘I love you’ to John. But this new heat in my chest, blossoming into my heart and soul… THIS is love? Interesting.

OOooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOooo

JOHN:

Arriving home after the lovely evening at the club, we don’t suspect anyone is in the flat. In hindsight now, one of us surely should have caught the little clues that someone had broken in but as it was, we were blindsided.

Happily groping each other in the entry, dropping off Sherlock’s Belstaff, my suit jacket and the bag of toys and leather by the door, we wander into the sitting area giggling like school kids. It is a rare moment of pure joy. I am so happy I could bust. I can’t believe what I have just done and I think Sherlock is just as surprised. He’s so, well…human, in my arms, kissing me and nibbling on my bottom lip. I push him backwards and remind him, “I’m still thirsty, you dope. Give me a minute and then we can carry on.”

I flip on the overheads as I enter the kitchen. A young man is standing there in front of me, startling me completely. He is as tall as Sherlock, just as thin and dressed in tight jeans and a silly cartoon t-shirt. His hair, a mess of ginger curls flip over grey eyes glowing with good humor in his young face. There is something familiar about him. Something that tells me I should know him. He has this presence that emanates beyond his personal space and draws me closer. I can’t look away from him. 

Sherlock is instantly by my side, stiff and angry. He demands, his voice like steel- hard and cold, “What are you doing here?”

“Sherlock, I had hoped you might welcome me home.”

Sherlock puts an arm around me protectively as if the young man might suddenly lunge at me. I glance at him, completely puzzled, as he answers, “Why should I?”

“From brotherly love, perhaps?”

Startled, I set eyes back to the stranger and see the resemblance immediately. Under all the happy, carefree layers, I find my lover’s less social likeness.

Sherlock barks a hard laugh, “There’s NO brotherly love here, Benedict.You wore out your welcome long ago. LEAVE.”

The young man frowns. 

“Fine,” He says. He pulls out his phone and dials. As he waits for an answer he remarks almost threateningly, “Then let's see what Mummy and Mikey have to say about your rude behavior.”

END OF BOOK ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END Book 2- LOVING is coming soon- ish. 
> 
>  Having Benedict be Sherlock's long estranged twin brother was too tempting. Hopefully John won't actually KILL Sherlock over this secret.


	18. Not a real chapter but an update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Book 2 LOVING has been started and you'll find chapter one posted. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> More light fluffy fun and John getting just a touch annoyed with his naughty detective.

Book 2, Ch 1 is posted as part of Consequences and Cases.

 

Owning Sherlock Holmes is now a part of its own universe and NOT a part of this series!!!

Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Kudos and comments always appreciated. Please be gentle, we writers are sensitive creatures.
> 
> YOU GUYS ROCK! THANK YOU FOR THE KUDOS!
> 
> I'm restarting book 2 so look for a change in Book 1's last chapter. 
> 
> Owning Sherlock Holmes is no longer part of this series!


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